Royal Crowns
by ladyanj
Summary: [SYOC] in which the king dies, the prince needs to have a selection, his younger sister has to deal with council politics and her own love life, intertwining histories and secrets are revealed, and everyone else is just trying to survive.
1. Prelude & Introductions

**PRELUDE**

* * *

"They're making me do it."

"Even after what he promised you?"

"It wasn't in his will, Madeline; there's nothing official about a dying man's last wish to his son."

Madeline sighed. "And to think I had an inkling of faith in those bas––"

"Hey, hey." The prince put a hand on her arm. "Don't bother getting worked up about it. We both knew they would force me into a Selection eventually."

Madeline knew it, but that didn't mean she had to _accept_ it. A Selection with any other conditions would be fine with her, but William's Selection included the agreement of Christine's return to the palace; her dreadful half-sister.

William seemed to understand why she was displeased, and moved from the seat across from her to be next to her, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Christine isn't that bad, Lyn; just give her a chance."

"A chance?" Madeline scoffed. "She lost that long ago, when she got knocked up by that photographer." She shuddered, disgust controlling her facial expressions.

"They were engaged," William reminded her gently, "and he was an asshole that ran away."

"She doesn't deserve any sort of title," Madeline continued, "her mother didn't even get to her coronation before she died, and her own child is practically a bastard. I don't understand why they haven't gone ahead and taken her title."

"Father said––"

"He's the one who agreed for it to be revoked in the first place," she snapped. "The only reason I wish she'd married that man is because she'd be out of our hair and the ranks of nobility."

Silence ascended the car after Madeline's outburst. William didn't say a word until they reached their destination, and even then he simply whispered, "don't say anything to her until we're in private."

The car rolled to a stop and their doors were flung open, the sounds of a mourning crowd welcoming Madeline as she stepped out, her black gloved hand in the driver's. The crowd was mostly commoners and press, with a few smatterings of lesser nobles standing at the fronts. Their mother stood with the councilmen and extended family, a vision of elegance draped in black. Though her face couldn't be seen through the chiffon of her veil, there was no doubt she was an absolute wreck––Madeline most certainly was.

However, much to her displeasure, Christine stood beside the queen with her daughter on her hip. Little Angelina wasn't as much of a nuisance as her mother, but her constant presence drew Madeline to a wit's end. Thankfully, she was old enough to speak in semi-correct sentences and know when to _not speak_ , something her mother sorely lacked. Face drawn up, Madeline approached her mother, quickly hugging her and standing to her side. Naturally, Christine was on the other.

With their brother at the front, the burial process began. Madeline didn't listen to the droning words of the priest but instead observed the people around her. The married woman had veils covering their faces––some strange tradition––while the children and others only donned black clothing. The children were unamused, most likely not understanding what was happening, while mostly everyone else was stoic in their stance, keeping their faces closed off and body tense. William simply looked solemn and Christine kept her emotions closed off. Angelina barely made a sound. Soon, the priest gestured for them to step forward, giving them clumps of dirt to cover the body with.

Christine was not invited forward.

Madeline took small satisfaction in sprinkling the dirt over her father's casket while Christine could only look on. She didn't even have a veil to cover her tear streaked face, considering she had never married. All she could do was stand and watch the last piece of her father be covered away, buried into the ground to be forgotten about. Even worse, there wasn't a thing she could do to be part of the process. It was equal parts pity and vengeance for Madeline. Perhaps she would understand that she was no longer welcome––never had been, actually, but she couldn't say that while her father was still breathing.

So, while Madeline and her brother stood hand in hand thinking of their happiest memories with their father, Christine stood to the side, body shaking with quiet sobs.

* * *

 **ONE MONTH LATER**

* * *

It had been a month since his father's funeral, and the palace was still a dump. Relations were also tense, with Christine and Angelina in the palace. This, on top of the Queen's constant absence, led for rather dull days constrained within golden walls. Madeline refused to even _look_ at Christine, so she she remained in her room most days, and Christine felt too uncomfortable to leave her quarters. Meal times were lonely, with the Queen busy, Madeline stubborn, and Christine feeling unwelcome. After a week of the nonsense, he took meals in his room. After a few more weeks, William had had enough.

"You are going downstairs," William said as he burst into Madeline's room, "and you are going to eat with me!"

Madeline was not impressed.

"If that witch is going to be there, I'd rather stay up here."

"She's not down there and hasn't been in weeks! You scared her off Madeline, and there's no way she's coming out soon; so please, I beg you, just sit next to me for a single meal to prevent my loss of sanity."

Madeline sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. But only because I don't ever want to be Queen in your place."

William honestly didn't care if she condemned him to the depths of hell––as long as she was getting up and following him downstairs, he was happy. Even better, they didn't run into a single person on their way from the third floor to the Grand Room, and no one was waiting inside to surprise them, besides the mandatory guard in each corner and by the doors. Madeline, rather stiffly, sat down in a chair and crossed her legs eloquently, raising an eyebrow at William when he didn't sit right away. It was as if she had been the one to invite him to dinner, not the other way around. Nonetheless, he sat down as the kitchen staff brought out the dishes.

"It's strange to think in a week this room will be overfilling with conversations," Madeline mused between bites. "It'll be a nice few months."

"Until everyone goes back into solitude and it'll just be me and my wife?"

"I give you a year before you have, like, eight kids."

A few moments passed before William spoke again. "Madeline, that's _not_ how it wor––"

"Your Highness." A councilman burst through the doors, files in hand, "I have urgent news."

"What is it?" William asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin and getting up to step towards the man.

"It's––uh––it's important."

"You really didn't think this one through, Max," William sighed.

"Not really, Your Highness," Max sighed. "Despi wanted to come to the palace, and I really couldn't think of an excuse to tell her no."

"Despi's here?" Madeline's eyes lit up at the mention of his younger sister. She was a sweetheart everyone in the palace adored. "Where is she?"

"In the gardens, I believe; she's most likely with Faye." Max nodded towards the doors leading outside, "I'd hurry, before they move to another point inside the palace."

Madeline didn't need to be told twice and quickly left the room to find the Pentwist sisters. William almost went himself, but stayed back, for the sake of priorities. "Is there anything of value inside of those files?" He nodded towards the papers Max held.

"Taxes, mostly. And something about your Selection. Didn't bother to read it, though."

Will sighed and took the files anyways. Might as well get to work.

* * *

Madeline loved children more than she could say. Ever since she was a young teenager, she'd always been the first to volunteer for taking care of the kids of their diplomatic visitors. When it came to Christine's three-year-old, Angelina, she had mixed reactions. While the girl was adorable and lovely, she was also the spawn of a witch more evil than words could say. In the end, Madeline would never be mean or rude to her, but her mother could rot at the bottom of the ocean for all she cared.

"Faye," Madeline called as she stepped outside. The golden haired girl turned at the sound of the princess' voice, her smile lighting up the gardens.

"Madeline!" Faye jogged towards her and gave her a brief hug. "Did Max tell you?"

"Doesn't he always?" Madeline laughed. "In all the years he's been here, never once has he succeeded in bringing you two to the palace in secret. He always stumbles over himself and admits to the _real_ reason for his visit within a sentence."

"Well... you're not wrong––"

"Madeline!" Something crashed into her chest, causing her to let out a small _oof._

"Despi?" She pulled back, and the twelve-year-old smiled back at her. "God, you're tall."

"Barely," Despi argued. "I'm like, Faye's height. Short."

"Hey." Faye nudged her sister in the shoulder. "I'm not that short. Everyone else is just _really tall_."

Despi rolled her eyes and turned back to Madeline. "Are you excited for Will's Selection?"

Straight into it, then.

"Yes, I'm excited; I get to meet a bunch of lovely ladies and my brother is _finally_ getting married––what's not to be excited about?"

Despi regarded her for a few moments. "That sounded really rehearsed."

Faye nodded in agreement. "Sorry, Madeline, but that's true. Might as well add something about 'lasting friendships' to complete the whole package."

Madeline gaped at them. "That was so not fake! I really mean it––I'm excited."

"Then don't use the script the council gave you to show it," Faye retorted.

Madeline, about to respond, was interrupted by a small voice yelling "Maddie, Maddie, Maddie!" and something colliding with her legs. Looking down, she saw the top of Angelina's pale blonde head. Her niece clung to her legs with such might she was almost sure she was going to loose circulation.

"Angie," Madeline said, a wary smile on her face. She picked up the little girl and put her on her hip. "Where's your mommy?"

"She's inside. Said it's too cold for her."

What she meant was that Madeline's icy wraith was not something she wanted to bear. Good riddance, she thought; Christine's general presence wasn't something she wanted to bear, either.

"You can stay with me, Faye, and Despi, yeah? We'll have lots of fun." Madeline smiled, more genuine now. Despite her attitude towards Chrstine, she doted on little Angelina. The girl had done nothing wrong to her or her family, and she was sweet and charming enough to have the entire court under her little finger. Madeline had no doubt that when Angie was older she would have boys and girls following her every move. Angelina, happy with Madeline's proclamation, slid down to the ground and got Faye and Despi to run after her with smiles on both their faces. The sisters didn't come by the palace often––at least not together––but whenever they did they'd light up the room.

"I haven't seen Faye smile like that in ages."

Madeline nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping around the the source of the voice with a hand on her chest. Unsuprisingly, it was Max, hands stuffed in his pockets to protect himself from the winter chill. "What I mean, Your Highness, is that I don't think she's had a lot to smile about, lately."

"She always seems happy in the palace," Madeline said quietly, not quite facing him. He hummed in response. Taking it as a positive, she moved a step forward. "She should enter the Selection."

Max didn't respond. Neither through words or physical movement, and his face stayed how it was before: relaxed. She would think he hadn't heard her, except the air around them was thinly quiet. A paper clip could fall into the grass and they'd all hear it. Wishing she could take back what she said, she turned back towards the girls running around. After a few moments of constant sprinting, Angelina came back to Madeline and plopped herself at her feet, declaring that she was tired. Madeline leaned down and picked her up, balancing the sleepy child on her waist while the little girl's head rested on her shoulder. She turned back to the palace, and heard a quiet whisper as she walked by Max.

"She already has."

* * *

shout out to **paige** for letting me plot with her (aka tell her about all the death™) and for creating like 70 characters for me. and also to **ruby** for destroying m e. check out my profile for the form and check out my **pinterest, agentanj.** ALSO i'm gonna take like 20 characters because realistically not all 35 will be featured and i don't want people to feel bad if i cut them out so soon. ALSO PT. 2: for now, people can submit max. 3 characters.

 _stay classy,  
anj_


	2. Annoucements & Sisters

_**A/N:** y'all,,, will and faye aRE NOT related. faye is the daughter of a councilman, and the sister of max (also a councilman) and despi. will is the son of the queen and (now dead) king, and the FULL sibling of madeline. christine is madeline and will's father's child from his first marriage, which is explained more later! hope that clears it up for anyone confused on their relations. _

_**in other news, thank you so much for all your kind words and reviews! reading that stuff legit makes my day and i'm sooooo appreciative**_

* * *

"If you like her so much, just marry her; screw the Selection."

"It's not that I like her," William sighed, "I'm just enamoured by her."

Madeline rolled her eyes. "Enamoured or liking, who cares? Whatever it is, it's mutual."

"It's puppy love."

"Will," Madeline said sternly, "What do you expect to get out of this?"

"A new queen," he responded easily.

"Wrong––that's what the council wants you to think; what you should expect out of this is _love._ I don't understand why you're going through this whole ordeal when love is staring you right in the face."

"Madeline. I am going through with this and that. Is. Final. This isn't your life to be messing around with, so whatever mistakes I make are mine, okay?" William sighed and looked at his watch. "I need to get ready. Don't––" he waved his hands, "––do anything stupid."

They had exactly ten minutes before the Report began, and it was easily going to be the most important episode of Will's life. With the announcemnt of the Selected, all eye's would be on him and his reactions. He said that he would keep a neutral face throughout, (meaning he would zone out or something), but Madeline was almost certain something reaction-worthy would pop up. However, she kept her mouth sealed and took her seat off the camera. The Report would start with an update about whatever needed to be updated, then a single commerical break with all the remaining time devoted to the Selection.

"You look nervous," came Max's voice from behind her. The familiarity of him washed over in a calming wave, letting her relax back into her chair.

"I am, and I have no idea why." She patted the seat next to her, and he sank down. "Not like it's my life or anything, as he so gratefully reminded me."

"It's a sibling thing." He shrugged, "Faye could be doing a test completely unrelated to me, but I'd still be on edge all day." He laughed, a sound smooth and rich like chocolate: "It just means you care, Your Highness."

"Well, if I look like I'm about to throw up I give you permission to squeeze my hand until I come back to an un-nauseated state."

He smiled. "You have my word."

With five minutes to go, Madeline was content with the silence that had settled in her area of the room. Max was talking to business to councilman in their corner of the set, and William was going over things with the host of the Report, Jamieson. It would have been a peaceful transition to the live broadcast if Christine hadn't suddenly decided to show up, and damn if she wasn't glowing. Her light blue dress moved around her like a pastel cloud, forming around her hurried movements until she sat next to Madeline, her breaths coming out short.

"You're late," Madeline said between gritted teeth.

"I was having trouble putting Angelina to bed," she gasped between breaths, leaning back in her chair with her face towards the ceiling.

Madeline leaned forward. "There's people for that, you know; so you're not late to every damn function."

"I know, I'm sorry," she sighed, straightening herself out. "I just don't feel comfortable leaving her with strangers."

"Yet you used to bring them home every night," Madeline snipped, relishing at the red tint that came across Christine's cheeks. She would have said more, but the room began to fade to darkness and all lights were focused on the stage where Jamieson stood, smiling. Max hurried into his seat next to her, smiling bashfully.

"I didn't have the chance to say it before, but you look beautiful, Your Highness," he whispered as he settled into his seat. Madeline was glad the minimal lighting hid the blush that swept across her face. She squeezed his hand in response.

"Good evening, Illéa," Jamieson boomed, and already Madeline was zoning out. She looked around the room, watching the different people and what they were doing. The audience was typically made of the councilman and whatever staff were on break. Tonight, however, it was packed full of Angeles natives, most likely hoping to catch the live reactions of William as each Selected was shown. The energy simmered, not quite at the point it would be when the real show began. It was only a few more minutes of Max tal––

–– _What?_

Madeline whipped her head to where she thought Max had been next to her. In what must have been clear confusion, she flipped her head between where he was _supposed_ to be sitting beside her and to the stage, where he continued to present the council's updates. Seeing her lapse of confusion, Max broke his composure for a second and smiled at her, just barely shaking his head. The embarrassment was quick to settle in; she shrunk into her seat, trying to avoid the curious looks that were pointed her way. Damn him and his smile.

Soon, the lights slowly turned on as the commercial break began. Max stepped off the stage and came towards Madeline, a grin on his face. Before he arrived, however, Christine turned towards Madeline and began talking.

"I can't believe you didn't notice he was gone," she laughed, "you must have been really out of it."

"At least I was... aware of the time," was Madeline's best comeback. She was too tired for Christine's bullshit. "Why are you even talking to me? You are _not_ my sister, and you never will be," she sputtered out aggressively, after a few seconds.

"Madeline, I really am sorry for what I did." Madeline saw Max sit down next to her out of the corner of her eye. "You have to understand, I was _completely_ cut off."

"What you choose to do with your life isn't on my conscious," Madeline spat, "but bringing that into my family? Exposing your daughter to people like them? That's on me to get rid of."

Christine's eyes turned watery. "The Queen and Will––"

"Have never cared for the Crown's reputation; not like me and _my_ father." Madeline put stress on 'my father,' taking satisfaction in Christine's small cringe. "And now that he's dead it's my responsibility to make sure anything that could taint us is cut off."

"Mad––"

"Really, how do you live with yourself? It's despicable what you did, especially when you could have _easily_ just told my father what happened, not dance around for two years and raise your daughter in that environment." Christine opened her mouth to respond, but Madeline cut her off again. "I feel so terrible for Angelina, having a mother who doesn't care for her safety and is _such_ a fucking who––"

Max squeezed her hand tightly, and she whipped her head to him, glaring. "I know for a fact I do not look like I'm going to throw up."

"But she does." Max nodded towards Christine. Madeline, in all her rage, hadn't realized that Christine's rosy skin had taken on a sickly pale tint. Quickly, her half-sister darted out of her chair and through the studio doors, most likely going to retch in a trash can in the hall. _It's what she deserves._

"You shouldn't be so cruel to her," Max whispered as the lights began to dim again. He still held onto her hand.

"What she's done to us..." Max was one of the few non-royals who knew what Christine had done, and he'd been one of the few to never have an explicit opinion on it. "Don't you feel terrible for Angelina?"

Max shrugged. "Of course; she's been through so much since she was born, and it's not like she'll remember it. What she needs is stability."

"And to be taken away from that woman." Max didn't say anything, only turning his attention back to Jamieson. He squeezed her hand again, and she squeezed back.

This time, Madeline kept herself alert. William was standing at the centre of the stage, two bowls in front of him. One contained the names of the Selected, and the other was empty for him to place the names in after they were announced. After encouragement from Jamieson, he pulled out his first name. "From Likely, Ayaka Nakamura."

The crowd clapped as her photo appeared on the screen behind him. She was a willowy girl with black hair and a tentative smile on her face. Before she could be analysized further, the next name was announced. "Seana Eade, Clermont."

The announcements continued for twenty minutes at least; Cressida Blanche, Columbia. Marena Carvalho, Paloma. Addie West, Hudson. Yael Baer, Carolina. Molina Snachez, Honduragua (the last one encouraged a few familiar fans). Finally, they were at their last two names. "From Angeles––" the anticipation in the room skyrocketed, everyone on the edge of their seat to hear the name of the girl from the Royals' home province. "Faye Pentwist."

Max squeezed her hand in a bone-breaking grip. She held in a gasp and looked at him, and never before had she seen his face look so tense. She placed her free hand on his, causing him to break out of his trance. Looking mildly horrified, he drew back his hand and placed it on his lap. His shoulders remained tense. Then, somewhere in the room, there was a sharp gasp and sort of crash sound, followed by the doors squeaking open. Madeline barely caught the sliver of light that came in, illuminating Faye's midnight blue dress. _Poor girl_ , she thought. Will looked startled himself, taking a few extra seconds to fish out the last name. "From Labrador," he breathed in deeply, "Vivienne Starling."

 _Illéa's Sweetheart; how fitting,_ Madeline mused. A clean way to wrap up the whole shebag. It wasn't a Selection unless some powerful media figure presented themselves as a contender. Jamieson soon took Will's place on the stage and gave the typical farewell. The lights came on again and the voices in the room rose to a new high, creating an unintelligible hum of sound and energy. Madeline and Max stayed seated, staring at nothing in particular. Eventually, Max got up and gave a dazed bow to Madeline, muttering something about finding Faye. Madeline nodded and sunk further into her seat. She had no idea what Will was feeling, but she was most certainly _very concerned_ for what was to come.

* * *

"Faye?" Will called into the darkness of the gardens. He had tried to wrap as fast as he could when he announced her name, especially since he––and likely half of Illéa––heard the way she had bolted. Though he'd never been close to her, he knew that she would always go to the gardens when upset. It was where he found her most after her mother's death.

There was no response as he continued to search for her in the darkness, but he eventually caught a glimpse of something shine in the dark blue, and made out a black figure leaning against a tree. "Faye," he whispered as he neared her, crouching down to her level. When she realized who it was, she flinched back, her eyes glassy.

"I'm so sorry," she blubbered, "I didn't think I would get in, Despi just wanted me to do it, and I couldn't think of a reason why not to. I'll drop out, you can find someone else; oh my God, I'm so sorry, Your High––"

"Faye," he said softly, going to place a hand on her shoulder, but thinking better of it. "Faye, I'm not mad."

She looked up at him. "... Really?"

"I don't mind you being in the Selection––it'll be helpful, actually. I need an ally in this, and God knows Madeline won't see who the girls really are." She chuckled, and he used it as momentum to keep going. "Please, stay in this and help me out."

"Help you?"

"My inside source. Tell me how they really act, who's here for love and who's here for my title––stuff like that."

She nodded slowly, thinking it over. "Alright... I can do that; but promise me something."

"Anything." He clasped her hands in hers.

"Don't hurt me," she whispered, eyes focusing on the grass rather than him. He regarded her, curled up against a tree, cheek shining with tear tracks, and eventually nodded.

"I promise; I won't hurt you."


	3. New Year's Eve

_**A/N:** happy 2018! even though this is really late! and it's definitely not new years! and oh my god my stress has stress!  
this chapter is dedicated to **paige** for basically coming up with some of the most iconic scenes ever. and of course to all of you for your reviews and warm words! i'm literally sobbing in the club i love you guys._

 _OOF FOR THOSE WHO DON'T HAVE PINTEREST/ARE WONDERING: YES **QUEEN ROSALINE'S FC IS BEYONCÉ** AND YES **MADELINE'S FC IS ZENDAYA** I. DID. THAT._

 _quick note for those who still haven't submitted **anything** for their character: please do so soon! next chapter will be the introductions of the girls, so something like their name could go a long ways. you **do not** have to submit the form all at once––break it into little sections, but do send at least a name and basic information within the next few days; no rush on anything else!_

* * *

"For someone with a glass of wine in your hands, you look awfully sober."

Max startled when Madeline approached him, momentarily dropping his mask of anger. If she could see auras, Madeline was sure his would be a boiling red. "What's got you down on the last day of the year?"

"They wouldn't let Faye come to the party," he seethed. "They said she wasn't even allowed in the palace because she was a Selected."

Madeline raised her brow. "Who exactly is 'they?'"

"The Selection Committee––which I'm not on, thank God."

"So she'll be spending the New Year with Despi?"

"No!" Max exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Despi's at some party with her friends––Faye is with our grandmother, alone."

"Hey." Madeline nudged his shoulder. "Your grandmother's nice."

"She goes to bed at 9," Max deadpanned. "As I said, Faye is alone."

"Well obviously your father couldn't stay home, as head councilman, but why couldn't you?" Madeline grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a waiter floating by. From Max's exasperated expression––which was slowly melting into bewilderment––she knew she was in for a hell of a night.

"I have to make a speech on behalf of the government––or something."

Madeline laughed into her drink. "That's to be expected when one's the face of the council." She mock pouted. "Pretty boy problems sound quite horrendous; I could never live with the travesties you have to go through!"

Max rolled his eyes. "Please spare me the comments for one. Fucking. Night; I'd rather enjoy going into the New Years without your sarcasm ringing through my ears."

Madeline gaped at him. "That's the meanest thing you've ever said to me." Then, quieter, "how much have you had to drink?"

Before he could form a snappy response, trumpets blared through the room. Madeline flinched and grabbed onto Max's arm as she turned towards the source of the noise. Though she already knew it was signalling the entrance of the sovereigns, she would never get used to it.

"Her Majesty, the Queen Rosaline Schreave," a man at the front shouted as the grand doors swung open. Madeline caught a glimpse of her mother's red gown before leaning down into a curtsy, which was made difficult by the snug fit of her dress around her stomach. The room erupted into applause soon after, guests smiling in quiet awe as her mother moved to the front of the ballroom as a vision of grace in every aspect.

As her mother began her welcoming speech, Madeline grabbed two more flutes of champagne and drowned each within the period of her mother's three-minute speech. If the sudden wave of dizziness that overcame her was any consolation, she was most defiantly en route of being drunk. The room still held the same level of stiffness it had before; though, it did seem slightly brighter. After placing the empty glasses onto the tray of a waiter walking by, she promptly grabbed another. Max snatched it out of her hands.

"Hey," Madeline protested, attempting to take it back.

"You are not going into the new year drunk, Your Highness." He flagged down a server and placed the flute of champagne on his tray.

"But if I start the year vomiting, it can only get better from there!"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, possibly not the best plan," she amended, "but it's the last day of the year––I need to live a little."

"Living does not equal falling off a balcony before midnight, Your Highness." He paused. "Actually, I'm pretty sure you'd die."

"Max," Madeline part snapped, part whined, "I demand––as your princess––that you let me get as drunk as I want."

"Sorry, I don't understand English."

"Max!"

* * *

"You must be excited, Your Highness; I most certainly would have been at your age."

William was not excited, thank you very much. Contrary to what every person and their mother thought, Will was not over the moon at the prospect of having '35 lovely ladies to court.' In fact, he was feeling quite the opposite––under the moon, perhaps. Or really, he would rather fling himself into the sun if that option would be provided. However, the closest destructive substance he had in his vicinity was alcohol so he may have downed a few glasses within the past half hour. Well, he didn't know exactly how many he had, just that it was well into the double digits by now.

The drinking––which Madeline seemed to have caught onto, if Max ripping every glass out of her hand was any sign––was partly out of annoyance for the droning conversations he had to endure, and part guilt. It seemed the Selection Committee––which no one in the history of ever has liked––banned Faye from attending the palace's New Year's Eve Ball, or just being anywhere near the palace in general. Max had been steaming when he came in, his tie and hair askew from fighting with some of the advisers.

Will had to admit, the man had endurance. He could certainly yell at a person for hours (though he already knew that). So now, he was guilt drinking. And whatever old fuck he was talking to wouldn't shut up; God, where was his wife?

"Sir Thierry," Will interrupted. "I'm so sorry––" he wasn't "––but I just saw Sir Carlisle, and I have some things to discuss with him. Enjoy the rest of your night." He lifted his glass in a toast and quickly walked to where one of his younger advisers stood. At least he wouldn't barrage him with overly invasive questions.

"Sir Carlisle," William greeted. He turned to his wife, "Lady Ophelia."

"Your Highness," Sir Carlisle gave him a quick bow, and his wife followed with a curtsy and flash of a smile. Perhaps in his slightly drunken state William had become hyper aware, but Lady Ophelia seemed more intimidating than she usually was. Her blue eyes were sharp and calculating, never staying in one place. She had always held herself with an air of confidence only Twos could have had been raised with from birth.

"How are you enjoying the party?" Will asked, placing his empty glass on a passing tray. He hesitated when reaching for another one, but opted to keep himself from falling on his face before the end of the night.

"Lovely as always," Lady Ophelia replied, her voice laced with honey tones. If she weren't married (and he perhaps not so intoxicated) he could have been sure her smile held a lace of flirtation.

"The Queen did wonderfully, as always," Sir Carlisle agreed. "It's a shame it'll be the last of it's kind."

"How so?" Will leaned too much to one side, and had to quickly shoot out his foot to keep himself from tripping over.

"Well, your future wife will be in charge of planning the ball, when she's queen. And considering the circumstances, you'll likely be coronated within a few months of your engagement." Sir Carlisle smiled, "are you excited about your Selection, Your Highness? I can assure you most of the public is."

 _God fucking damnit, Carlisle; I had hope in you._

"Who wouldn't be," Will near-seethed. God, he had to keep himself together if he wanted to get through the night. "It's unfortunate it had be under such circumstances, but I'm glad I'll be able to continue an age old tradition." _Nice save, Schreave; they certainly won't think you're an old cynic now._

He was saved from any further conversation when his mother caught his eye and signalled for him to join a group of socialites she had formed. Bidding a farewell to the Carlisles, Will headed across the room, and to another round of invasive questions.

 _I need another drink._

* * *

"She looks like a slut."

"I think she looks rather nice, and that you need to stop drinking." Max snatched another flute of champagne out of her hands. She rolled her eyes and turned to a waiter, grabbing another.

"You don't know shit about women's fashion," Madeline took a gulp of the golden liquid. "That slit on her dress is way too high––though the colour's a nice shade of gold. Very festive." Madeline sighed. "Too bad Lady Ophelia's such a bitch."

"She's not… the worst."

"She threw a shoe at her maid because she brought her the wrong designer dress," Madeline deadpanned. "She's a bitch."

"Still not the worst."

"Oh, whatever." Madeline moved her eyes from the insufferable couple towards the dance floor, where groups of people spun around each other and women were dipped to the ground, their arms thrown out in elegant extensions. She spun back to Max and grabbed his hand. "Let's go dance."

"It's crowded, and there's a few minutes left until midnight. By the time the song is over we'll––Oh." Madeline pulled him outside to the balcony, under the thousands of stars that lined the deep blue sky. Strings of lights were wrapped around the balcony boundaries, and lamps from the garden below barely lit the faces of the people around them. Max's face was shadowy, but she could still make out his blue eyes, scanning the area around them so rapidly. Madeline wrapped her arms around his neck, and almost subconsciously he placed his at her waist.

"See?" she whispered, "there's always enough time to dance."

He smiled softly, not quite looking at her. His eyes were focused on something behind her, likely some people dancing or a decorated pillar. Madeline took the time to study him; the way his golden hair was gelled loosely to one side, or how he wore a ruffled white dress shirt and left his dark blazer open, rather than wear a snug suit or tuxedo like the other men. God knew William always wore the same outfit with a slightly different tie for each event. Suddenly, he moved his eyes to hers, leaving her to drown in the bright blue. He smiled wider this time, and his hands tightened around her waist.

Madeline had the sudden urge to kiss him.

"Ten," people inside the ballroom chanted.

They stopped swaying.

"Nine."

She moved her hands from around his neck to his chest.

"Eight."

His hands left her waist.

"Seven."

Madeline leaned forward and whispered in his ear: "Kiss me."

"Six."

"Your Highness––"

"Five."

"Do you have any New Year's resolutions, Max?"

"Four."

"None that I can think of."

"Three."

"I have one for you."

"Two."

She leaned in to him. "Call me Madeline."

"One."

"As you wish, Madeline." He grabbed her hand.

"Happy New Year!"

He moved her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It must have been fate and destiny all rolled into one when fireworks shot through the sky, as it most certainly mirrored how she currently felt. All around them couples moved together in kisses, and how she wanted to be like them. She leaned forward, hoping to catch his lips with hers, but in her drunken state she landed it at the corner of his mouth.

He pulled back. "I feel like you would not want to do this if you were sober."

Madeline laughed, part drunk and part out of glee. "Ah, fuck sober me."

"I do not know in what context to take that."

Madeline leaned forward again, and he moved to the side. She pouted. "Do you not like me?"

"I assure you, I very much do. I'm just not sure if you like me when you're sober."

Madeline was about to respond, but cut herself off when lost her centre of gravity and tumbled into him. He grabbed her forearms and pulled her upright. "I'm taking you to your room."

"Thank God; I've been waiting for you to say that all night."

He sighed, "not in that context, Your Highness."

"Madeline," she corrected.

"If you promise not to make any more… innuendos––" he cringed "––I'll call you Madeline for the rest of our lives."

"As in, the lives we'll spend together?"

"I said no innuendos!"

"It wasn't sexual."

After he guided them outside of the ballroom, they didn't run into anyone else. The staff were either working the party or in the servant's quarters. It was a quiet journey, with the only sounds being her shoes hitting the floor and the loose fabric of her dress moving against Max. By the time they reached her room, he practically had to carry her inside. Madeline kicked off her shoes as she made her way to her bed, but momentarily lost her balance and grabbed onto Max's tie, effectively loosening it from around his neck. He smiled for a brief second before picking her up and putting her in her bed in a single motion. He took the blanket from the end of her bed he moved it up to her shoulders, gently tucking her in. He turned to leave, but she caught his wrist.

"Stay."

He sighed, but didn't protest. He set himself down on the chair in the corner of her room, and she watched as he tried to fit himself in, chuckling quietly when he threw his too-long legs over one end. His head turned to her, and he smiled––it was the last thing she saw before her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.


	4. Breakfast & Meetings

_**A/N: **_so i have nothing like super vital for you guys to know this chapter which is surprising since i like to create super complex plots and like ruin my own life with confusion. (well i mean the illéa's are introduced this chap and i love 3/4 of them so.)

ofc thanks to y'all for your SUPPORT™ and i'm glad you ship max and madeline! (ahh my pure children.) hope you enjoy and review, and if you're feeling the aesthetics checkout **my pinterest: intersectionally.**

* * *

"Jesus––"

Madeline's eyes snapped open, and then squinted against the sunlight hitting her face. Typically, the sun streaming through a window was a warm and pleasant way to wake up, but not when accompanied by a throbbing headache and no memory of how she had even gotten into her bed. The last she remembered, she was (sort of) kissing Max at midnight, and then they went to her room––

 _Oh my God; we did it, didn't we?_

If Max standing in her room, shirt and tie loose around him and struggling to get on his shoes was any indication, they most certainly did it. (And Madeline was most certainly freaking out.) Instead of acting like a normal person, and perhaps greeting him, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She waited until she heard him slowly open and close the door before springing out of her bed and into the bathroom.

Madeline looked at her reflection and threw up.

She blindly pounded on the button to call her maid, and soon she came running in, towels in hand. "Your Highness," she exclaimed, quickly running over to hold back the princess' hair. "I must have fallen asleep early on, because I don't recall you coming in."

Madeline finished retching, and her maid guided her to the tub, flicking on the faucet. She tried to focus on the water splashing onto the pristine white finish, but she would continually think back to what she must have done and the urge to release whatever she had drunk the night before pulled her to the edge of the bath. Leaning herself against the tub, the round edge pushing into her chest, she looked at her distorted reflection in the clear water. She was lulled into a trance until she felt something wet splash against her face, but it wasn't until her maid helped her out of her dress and into the tub that she began to cry.

"I don't know what I've done, Ishani," Madeline confessed, her maid looking at her with pity. "The council already thinks I'm a floozy, and this will only confirm their suspicions."

"I'm sure they don't think that," Ishani tried to soothe her, scrubbing something into her scalp.

"Half of them didn't want me to be appointed." Madeline breathed in deeply, squeezing her eyes shut. "The only reason I got on was because father and Will had the deciding votes. The only few who supported them were Aunt Margarita, Atticus, and Alexander."

"And the Pentwists," Ishani reminded gently.

"That's of no help to me in the current situation. Hell, the only supporters I have are basically family."

Ishani sighed and leaned back on her heels, letting Madeline wash out the soap from her hair. While submerged under the water, she wondered if she would be required to leave her room if she fell unconscious by staying underneath long enough. She lasted barely two minutes before she broke the water's surface, gasping for small breaths. Her maid looked at her disapprovingly.

"I've taken care of you since you were twelve years old," Ishani began, grabbing a towel and handing it to Madeline. "In those seven years, I've seen you grow to be a responsible young woman. You're smarter than trying to hide away from those people."

"It's just so difficult when I'm one of three women," Madeline sighed, draping the white cloth over her shoulders. "They expect so much of me, and now they'll view me like Christine––an easy target."

Ishani pressed her lips together, making no further comment. She did all that was required of her without a sound, only breaking the silence with a farewell and curtsy. The door slammed behind her. The sound vibrated through her chest, reminding Madeline that Ishani had never been the type to entertain her constant shading of Christine.

Despite wishing to curl on her bed and never exit her room, Madeline forced herself to leave and move down the stairs. No one looked at her any differently; no eyes of ice were pointed in her direction, and no mocking laughter was targeted her way. The only thing that kept her untrusting of her surroundings was the constant feeling of people watching her, like a prickling that traveled across her shoulders and down her back. She managed to arrive to the Great Room without any incidence, her mother and brother looking up from their meals with synchronized smiles. They acted so similar at times it scared her.

When she sat down, the first thing she saw was the empty chair at the head of the table where her father would have sat. The weight of his loss crushed down on her and the air suddenly turned suffocating, twisting her throat around itself that she was nearly wheezing. Will looked up, concerned, but she waved his eyes away. Will wasn't as affected by his death, simply because he had always been their mother's favourite, but she had been their father's. At least, when Christine wasn't around. The moment her half-sister came into their father's sights, she was old news. Madeline had tried everything to get that edge over her, even going as far as to join the council in his approval. She had never gotten it, despite that only she and her brother were present when he gave his last breath.

She had never hated someone more for doing nothing.

That was the thing about Christine; she did nothing, yet she had always been her father's favourite. In fact, she did everything a proper princess 'ought not to do, but he couldn't have loved her more. When he was lying on his death bed, the queen inconsolable, Will staring stoically ahead, and Christine trying to occupy Angelina, he had motioned for Madeline to lean forward and had simply whispered: "Don't let hate consume you." She had turned over those five words in her head for weeks after his death, never understanding where they could have come from. As far as she knew, he had never openly resented someone. Although, it could have simply been said because of her clear hate towards Christine. In a way, Madeline did want to make amends with her; whatever she had said during the Report had caused her to throw up, which wasn't what she had intended. Perhaps a slight uneasiness, but she didn't want to drive her sister to her death. Maybe she had to begin patching up the old wounds, even if it started with a simple bandage of an apology. However, she would have to settle for starting her healing process on another day, as Christine was (somewhat unsurprisingly) not present for breakfast.

"So." The Queen cleared her throat after a few moments of utensils scraping against plates. "The Selection committee has given me an end date."

"An end date?" William scoffed. "The whole thing hasn't even begun yet."

"Circumstances are not ideal, William; you only have so much time before you're to be coronated."

"I realize," Will ground out between his teeth, "but that doesn't mean you can put an expiration date on when I'm supposed to choose my wife."

"William Richard Schreave," their mother snapped, "don't start using that tone with me."

Will sighed and leaned back in his chair. "They realize that I won't just know, right? These things take… time."

"It may shock you, but you will _'just know._ '" She raised her eyebrows. "You can't expect everything in your life to be complicated. Some things are easy, but you just make it hard for yourself."

"My entire existence has been complicated," Will shot back. "From birth people have been debating between I and Christine for who should have the throne, but now that it's fallen on me, I can't get a break!"

"William," their mother warned, "don't start talking 'bout things you don't understand."

"What I understand is that father made a mistake with who he chose, and it took the girl dying for him to realize that––who's to say I won't do the same?"

The silence that followed weighed down in a thick, dark cloud. The topic of Princess Genevieve Beau-Schreave, the King's first wife and Christine's mother, had always been a sore point for prodding. Their mother had her reservations about her, but not because she was the first choice. In fact, their parents had always said they had been each other's first choice, but something had gotten in the way.

 _Perhaps Genevieve hurt him. Maybe that's the hate he so grudgingly carried._

The Queen suddenly rose from her seat, her chair scraping against the marble floor. William and Madeline quickly jumped out of their own chairs, but she was storming out the doors before they could wish her a proper farewell.

"Great job," Madeline sneered, "now she's gonna be in a pissy mood for the rest of the day."

"It would be worse if I told her I saw Max sneaking out of your room at seven in the morning," he fired back. The satisfaction that crossed his face was enough of an answer on the current colour of her face.

Madeline put her head in her hands. "Does the whole palace know?"

"Luckily for you, not yet. Most likely not ever, considering Ishani would never tell a soul." _And God bless for that._

"I got a few New Year's resolutions for you," Madeline said as she wiped her mouth and stood up. "First: stop being a whiny bitch. Second: I don't care who you're in love with, just give this thing a chance."

William raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "And I got one thing for you: try being a decent human being to Christine." Then, softer, "it's what Dad would've wanted."

"We don't always get what we want," Madeline responded quietly. However, the thought didn't leave her head for days.

* * *

January 3rd. One day before the Selected arrived, and Will couldn't concentrate.

As of current (if he wasn't living in some delusional fantasy) Pentwist Sr., who was seated on his right, talked about Illéa's current international relations. Max, or as he was so creatively referred to as Pentwist Jr., was seated directly across from the prince, involved in some sort of discourse with Madeline, who was at the man's left side. To Max's right was Atticus Illéa, the senior vice councilman who had a soul more bitter than the blackest of coffee––and he certainly looked the part, with his head propped on the palm of his hand and blue eyes boring holes into the head councilman as he talked. To William's left side was Lady Margarita Illéa, Atticus' sister and mother of Alexander Illéa, councilman of war and defence. Or so they say, if him having a silent yelling match with his mother held any sort of professionalism.

The seven of them had always been seated like this: Alexander, Madeline, Max, and Atticus on side, and Margarita, Will, and Calvin Pentwist on the opposing. Although, what had always felt more comfortable was his father seated between him and Calvin. The core eight of the council, always pulling the country in the right direction, always bringing in considerable personal drama. He wondered if his wife would enjoy being part of this group.

Pulling him out of his thoughts, a pen hit his forehead. He looked down at the blue stick before looking up to meet the eyes of his assaulter. Atticus only raised his eyebrows. "Your Highness?"

William's eyes went wide. "What am I supposed to say?" He whispered quietly, hoping the people to his sides would assist him in some form.

"Read the papers," Margarita murmured, nodding at the open folder in front of him. He didn't recall seeing anyone place them there.

"Yeah, okay." Will stood up, the sheets in his hands. "I have no idea what I'm doing," he said after a moments silence. A few chuckles went around the table as Alexander leaned forward and took them from his hands.

"I suppose he has a right to be distracted, considering the circumstances," Alexander teased. However, the moment he began reading aloud William was lost in the political jargon. He went back to observing the people around them, mainly Madeline and Max. Madeline seemed on the verge of a panic attack on New Year's morning, but whatever had her in a frenzy today was clearly of a different reason. Max put his hand on hers in an attempt to soothe her, but she snatched it away.

"Why are you trying to be so cute after we did… it," Madeline whispered, holding her hand to her chest.

Max tilted his head. "It?"

Will was rather confused himself, if he was honest with himself. However, Alexander was still droning on about whatever, and it wasn't like he could exactly butt into their conversation for clarification purposes.

Madeline sighed. "How was it? That night."

Max's face twisted into the further depths of confusion. "I mean, not great, to be honest. It was pretty uncomfortable."

Madeline gaped at him. " _… What?_ "

"Maybe get another one, for future guests," Max suggested. Apparently, it wasn't the wisest decision, since her face flushed with fifty shades of red.

"A better one? For future guests? Where and how the _fuck_ do I get a 'better one?'"

Max's eyes widened, and he shrugged. "Maybe Ik––"

"Anything further to add, Your Highness?" Calvin said from beside him.

"Uh––no; no," William hastily said, tearing his eyes from the pair in front of him. "Sounds good to me."

"An impending war 'sounds good?'" Atticus raised his eyebrows in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair, swivelling around."Someone give me another pen to throw at him."

"Give him a break, Finch," Margarita said from beside Will. "It's the day before his life changes forever."

"Please, Marge, you say that about everything."

Before the siblings could continue their bickering, Pentwist called the meeting back to the centre and adjourned. Apparently, Madeline couldn't leave fast enough; she grabbed all her documents in one motion and practically sprinted towards the door before Max could do as much as open his mouth. Will had no idea what they could be bickering about––though he was sure Madeline would soon tell him––but it certainly left a few damp spots on her relationship with Max. Damn, he may just owe someone money.

"Will." Alexander caught up to him as they exited. "Are you okay?"

"Do I seem okay?" Will sighed. "I'm currently the epitome of the 'tired eyes, tired soul' troupe."

"There are worse troupes to be."

William snorted. "Says the man who's last name is a troupe."

"Unfortunately, my dear Schreave; unfortunately."

* * *

Friday, January 4th. The day the Selected arrived, and Madeline was most certainly very, very, bored.

"My feet are actually numb," Madeline whispered to Will.

He seemed barely awake. "My _everything_ is numb. What's even happening?"

"The prep for some kind of initiation-greeting thing with Mom, Christine, and I before they come into the palace. Then they come and inside and you do… whatever you're supposed to do." Madeline rolled her eyes. "To be honest, everything that just came out of my mouth was total bullshit."

"Noted," Will yawned. Madeline turned her attention to the wall behind them, which displayed their mother and father's official coronation portrait, blown out so large it must have been taller than Madeline, if she were to stand next to it. It was a given to be noticed when anyone stepped into the Grand Foyer, but it was what they had displayed above, albeit in a smaller scale, that Madeline had always loved to look at as a girl; black and white pictures of her parents on their wedding day, positioned side by side. Her father's picture showed him looking towards the right in a clear state of nerves while his sister, Elizabeth, straightened the flower tucked in his lapel. Her mother's photo showed her standing in a doorway, her dress taking up more room than the doors were propped open. In her hands was a bouquet of white flowers––which she had preserved in her rooms, somewhere––and a wedding crown atop her head. She looked to the left, confidant, and with the way the pictures were positioned, it were as if her parents were looking at each other. Whether positioned in such a way on purpose or accidentally, her parents' love story was practically a dream.

From the side, a butler came running up to Will and whispered something in his ear. When he nodded, the butler bowed and scurried back to his position along the wall. Will turned to Madeline, an anxious smile on his face. "That's your cue––you're to go to the front of the palace."

Madeline sighed, picking up her dress. "Wish me luck."

"I give you all the luck in the world––but give it back to me before dinner."

The princess gave her brother a final pat on his shoulder and turned to Christine, extending her arm out. "Shall we?"

Christine looked taken aback at the friendly action, but looped her arm through hers all the same. Her dress was a blush like Madeline's, but with more earthy tones and decorated top. With a high neckline yet slightly sheer neckline, she stayed pretty but modest––a good mixture for someone of her age, title, and parental status. Madeline's own dress was light pink, but the fabric fell down her body like running water, and two long pieces of fabric hung by the front and back of her shoulders. Though it stung a bit to admit, they looked like synchronized sisters.

"I want to… apologize," Madeline began while they made their walk outside. "I was out of line on the Report, and I should have kept my mouth closed." She sighed and hung her head. "I had no idea I was going to make you throw up."

"Oh, that wasn't you." Christine waved the hand dismissively. "I've just been sick recently––but I appreciate the apology. There really is no need, though. I understand where it's all coming from."

Madeline smiled tentatively. "I know that the reason I act the way I do wanted us to have a better relationship. So, I guess, this is me trying to do that. I don't expect a sisterhood, or even a friendship," she quickly tried to reassure. "Just… friendliness."

Christine smiled, her teeth and skin glowing like a thousand suns. "I've been waiting for you to say that since we were kids." Then, quieter, "I have to admit, though, that you're doing much better than I was at your age."

"Because you were pregnant?" Madeline's eyes widened when she realized what had slipped out. "Shit, I didn't mean––"

"I know," Christine laughed. "I'm glad that we're not going to be at each other's throats anymore."

Madeline squeezed her arm. "I am too."

They moved through the Great Doors, and the sounds of a wild crowd swept through her ears. She held onto Christine's arm as they moved down to the bottom of the staircase, where her mother stood in her lavender gown, every bit a Queen. "Get ready," her mother whispered to her as they moved into a diagonal line, Christine being the first person the Selected would greet, and the Queen the last. Madeline had no time to respond when the crowd's noise turned thunderous, rumbling deep into her stomach. From the edge of the gates, she could see the Selected walking in a straight line towards them. At first glance, it was somewhat intimidating how they all moved in synchrony, everyone donning the same outfit of a white blouse and black pants. The only originality they could showcase was their province's flower tucked behind their ear. The girl leading the line of Selected was none other than Vivienne Starling, who's platinum hair practically blended in with her blouse. She stepped towards Christine and executed the perfect curtesy.

"Your Highness," she greeted, her voice sweet as a rose. Madeline had to remind herself that roses had thrones when Vivienne moved towards her, and the girl behind, Ada Owoso, curtsied for Christine.

"A pleasure," Madeline said, dipping her head. The actress smiled and moved to the Queen, no other words exchanged between them. The line of greetings moved on without much incident; though, Saskia's flower fell from behind her ear and she whispered a swear under her breath while she went to retrieve it.

"Don't say that around Graciela," Madeline said, referring to the palace's strict etiquette teacher. Saskia grinned and gave her a quick nod of the head in understanding.

The final girl was Willow Nakamura, who had coincidentally been the first Selected announced. Though she had long limbs that seemed hard to manage, she greeted them with more grace than some royals Madeline could think of.

"Your Highness," she said smoothly, her voice a sweet melody of a few accents weaved together. Madeline could pick up on a trace of a Japanese tone in her linguistics, but the other additions remained an unknown. She barely had time to respond before Willow moved to the Queen, still flawless as ever. She joined the rest of the girls standing on the first step of the staircase and they all waved a final time to the press, some more enthusiastically than others. In great synchrony, they spun around and moved up the steps, towards the palace. Madeline and Christine followed soon after, her mother staying behind to talk with a few of the media correspondents. When they reached the Grand Doors, Madeline made a turn to go to where the councilmen stood, but she was pulled away with a tug. At first, she thought it was Christine, but then she was greeted with the cool stare of Gabrielle Illéa.

"Madeline," Gabrielle said smoothly, a hint of ice laced with her words. "I never got the chance to talk with you at the New Year's Eve ball."

 _Yes, because I was ignoring you._

"I just got so preoccupied with other people––you know how it is," Madeline laughed, a fake twist in her tone. While her hate of Christine may have been somewhat unjustified, the annoyance she held towards Gabrielle was completely rational. Ever since they were children she had been conniving and manipulating, constantly vying for attention and trying to have all Madeline was given. Gabrielle thought being an Illéa gave her power, but in reality she had nothing over Madeline or her siblings. If it weren't for her mother and uncle's active presence in the government, (or their personal connections with her parents), Gabrielle would be like her grandfather, Marid––irrelevant.

Gabrielle smiled, thought it looked more akin to a grimace. Her hand didn't loosen on Madeline's arm. "Have you chosen who you'll be taking for tea?"

Madeline's eyebrows rose. "What tea?"

Gabrielle laughed, her pin straight hair moving off her shoulder when she threw her head back. "For the Selected's tea, of course! Your aunt chose Marianne Woughtsin and…" she scrunched her nose up, "… your mother." Gabrielle tipped her head forward and leaned towards Madeline, like they were sharing a secret. "Personally, I think you should choose Vivienne Starling; you shouldn't be giving hope to the girls of the lower castes."

Madeline pressed her lips together. It was common knowledge her mother came from the slums of Midston as a Five, and it was common knowledge that many nobles resented her for it; especially since Genevieve, a Two and socialite, could have been Queen in her place, had she not died. It wasn't surprising that Gabrielle was one of the few with such a limited mind set.

"Actually, I've already made my decision." Madeline slipped her arm from Gabrielle's grip, and straightened herself to her full height. "Saskia Cotrell, Three, and Willow Nakamura––" her lips turned up in the beginnings of a smirk, " _––Six_."

Gabrielle's eyes flooded with anger, her blue irises flashing into a tint of green. "Well," she said tersely, "I hope you have a grand time." She turned around on her heel, whipping away so fast the sharp ends of her dark hair grazed past Madeline's cheeks. There was a quiet victory while she watched Gabrielle stalk away, everyone sliding out of her way as she moved on a war path down the hall. Max must have noticed her satisfaction while he walked towards her, an eyebrow just barely raised. Madeline smiled when he stood beside her, and barely thought about her actions as she leaned into his chest.

Then, she remembered their conversation from the day before.

"Yesterday morning," Madeline began slowly. "You were going to say where to get a new… thing?"

"Oh, yeah," Max said after a moment's thought. "I was going to say Ikea. Literally everyone's got furniture from there."

"I–Ikea?"

"To get a new sofa," Max responded. He turned his face towards her when she remained frozen. "That's what you were talking about yesterday, right? About how the couch in your room was uncomfortable to sleep on during New Year's?"

Madeline balked. "Uh, yeah, yeah; definitely what I meant." He didn't question her, looking back towards the group of people in the Main Foyer. After a few moments, she spoke up again: "Max, did we––" She snapped her mouth shut when his ocean eyes met hers. "Never mind."

He smiled and chuckled under his breath, leaning slightly into her. She burrowed herself deeper into his chest, trying to think back to that night and comb through the details. Maybe she had jumped to conclusions, but if nothing happened their newfound coziness with each other couldn't be explained. No matter, whatever happened must have been good if he was so comfortable with her, physically and emotionally––she just wished she remembered what it was.


	5. Tea & Revelations

_**A/N:**_ _IT'S THE INTERVIEWS AND TEA AND OTHER STUFF YEET. a BIG psa that i love richard and rosaline sO MUCH (what an otp) and kind of regret killing him off? but i mean, it's not like his death is the initiating event of the story or anything,, rip. and hhhuuuuuuuuge thank you at you lovely fuckin precious people for your reviews and support! (pro tip: read graciela's dialogue in a french accent it's 110% a better experience.) (and another psa that tessa and scott are so in love it's ridiculous like WOW GUYS.)_

 _(also: if you caught margarita calling atticus "finch" in the last chap and know why, bless ur SOUL.)_

* * *

Will was living his worst nightmare. It was a Saturday morning (as in before noon), he was surrounded by thirty-four perfect strangers, one potential ally, and he had absolutely no coffee in his system. Though he was secluded from the Selected in an entirely different room, the door was propped open and he could still hear a quiet hum in the air created by conversations overlapping and meshing together. Madeline and Christine were somewhere in the room, mingling with the Ladies, and he wouldn't be surprised if Aunt Margarita were in there too. Graciela, the woman who gave him and his siblings their etiquette lessons-cum-woman who scared entire governments in her diplomatic days, silenced the room with a sharp whistle. Will heard a muffled speech to the ladies, sharp French tones and all, before she came into the room and curtsied to him.

"Lady Saskia Cotrell," Graciela announced, smiling and extending an arm whole the lady walked in. She was one of the girls Madeline had chosen for tea, he recalled as they exchanged their opening pleasantries. Graciela left after the introduction greeted him, looking satisfied.

"A pleasure, Lady Saskia." He motioned for her to sat down. She smoothed out her dress and sat so close to the edge he thought she may slip if she moved just an inch forward.

"Saskia is just fine; no reason for formalities."

Will tilted his head. "Shouldn't we begin with formalities?"

"Well you see," she began, "you should be introducing a sense of causality, so the conversation can start somewhere. Otherwise, it's just one big feeling of awkward."

"I feel like the epitome of awkward right now," Will confessed.

"Well aren't you glad I'm the first girl you're going with? I can tell you everything you need to do." Her eyes sparkled, a green gem with grey undertones.

"Hit me with it." Will leaned back into the arm of the sofa, just barely wishing he had something to take notes with.

"Don't tell them there's something there when there's not. When you eliminate them ten minutes later, not only will their hearts be crushed, but they'll hold a vendetta against you for stringing them along," she told him, cutting right to the truth. "And either tell all of them to call you Will, or tell none of them. There'll be cat fights in the Women's Room within the day." Saskia rolled her eyes. "I assure you, that's not what I'm here for."

"And what are you here for?" Will leaned forward, getting on eye level with her.

"I'm here for the fun," she said confidently. "If taking a risk means I'll have the time of my life, so be it."

Graciela knocked on the door, signalling their time was up. With more regret than he would have expected, he bid Lady Saskia farewell. On his mental checklist, he made sure she was in the "Most Definitely Staying" column.

He followed her advice and decided not to tell them to address him as Will––he may need that "introduction of causality" later, to save him from future moments in hell. Continuing forward, the next fifteen or so interviews held some interesting contenders. Lady Yael Baer walked in with tattoos down her arms, immediately capturing Will's attention. The five minutes they had with each other was spent with Will asking about a tattoo, and her telling him the story behind it. Some of the pictures on her skin were just little things she had gotten with an ex, and others held a deeper message, about inequality and injustice. He was so curious about her, he nearly had Graciela extend their interview.

Molina Sanchez was also a pleasant surprise. Expecting the supermodel to be emotionally detached, she was instead bubbly and full of laughter. Will really didn't expect it, but he was almost in tears after she told him a story about a mishap that had happened on the plane ride to Angeles. Following her was Dahlia Fleur-Martin, who was wearing the same necklace Madeline never went without. When he pointed it out, she had laughed and said, "I designed it!" Wren Phoenix and Calista Shen came directly after, both introducing themselves as contenders with strong personalities, and Ladies Clio and Rena were similar as well, with easy going personalities and desires for adventure. The girls also had varieties of jobs, such as Ada Owoso being a dance instructor, Gemma Lupo as a crab boater, and Seana Eade being a hotel manager. Camilla Gellman, Cressida Blanche, and Addie West were down-to-earth, whereas Haven Oh seemed to have her mind set on a specific goal, whatever it may have been. Lilah Murad was similar to Molina Sanchez––a genuine yet feisty personality despite their high celebrity status. Vivienne Starling also proved herself as akin to them, though with ten times the elegance.

"Lady Willow Nakamura," Graciela announced. She was the other girl Madeline had chosen to take for tea, and he had no doubts of his sister's decision when Willow walked in, an air of serenity following her.

"Lady Willow," Will greeted as she settled herself across from him. "Or do you prefer Ayaka?"

A light flashed through her eyes, and her mouth turned up in the slightest smile. "Willow is just fine, your Highness––but thank you."

Their conversation was pleasant small talk afterwards, the same questions about life before the Selection floating from his lips. When she left, it was as is she took something with her, though Will wasn't sure if it was a piece of the atmosphere, or a part of himself.

Graciela entered soon after Willow left, her face drawn up in thin lines. "Lady Faye went to her room, I'm afraid. The poor girl looked like she had seen death," Graciela clicked her tongue. She beckoned at someone else to come inside, and in came a girl holding mischief in her bright eyes. "The final one, Lady Verona Donovan," Graciela introduced. Will was so enchanted by Lady Verona, he nearly flinched when Graciela shut the door on her way out.

"Call me Ronnie," the Lady said as she quickly curtsied and sat beside him. "Your Highness," she added after a moment.

"Will," he said, the casual invitation slipping from his lips before he could catch himself. He had been so _close_ to keeping within Saskia's rules. "How are you enjoying the palace?"

"It's different from my home, but not so different from where I work."

"Where do you work?" From what he could just recall from her application, she was a governess. Her reply confirmed his suspicions, and they fell into easy conversation afterward. At least, that's what he hoped––the moment she left the room he laid down on the sofa, not caring if he messed up the cushions or his hair. Graciela practically dragged him into the main room when the ladies had cleared out, rattling off lists of things he needed to remember if he ever chanced upon one of them in the hallway, or proper protocol for asking one on a date. In all honesty, though, her information went through one ear and out the other; he was sure whatever she was saying was of great value, and would eventually come back to bite him, but he was in too much of a trance to really care at the moment.

"They're currently in the adjoining parlour, waiting for the green light." She stopped before the doors, turning around to face him with an eyebrow raised. "Who will you be eliminating?"

"Eliminating?" Will's eyes widened. "I just met them!"

"Yes, but there has to be a few you didn't find very interesting." Her eyes went wide with realization. "And tell me who you want to take for the first date."

"Graciela, I don't even remember half their names," he confessed.

She rolled her eyes and handed him her clipboard and a pencil. "Put a check beside the Ladies who's names you do remember, and the ones whom you think were pleasant company."

"What if I mix them up? What if I send home my supposed-to-be-wife?"

"I can assure you, Your Highness, you would remember your future wife's name." She snatched back her clipboard and began to analyze his decisions. "So, who do you want?"

"Faye," he blurted.

Graciela looked at him incredulously. "She wasn't even present for an interview."

"Lady Saskia?"

"She's already going for tea with your sister; it would send the wrong impression."

"Verona," he practically pleaded her. She nodded her head in agreement, and he let out a grateful sigh. _Third time's the charm._

"She works for the Masterson family, yes? An employee of a strong political family is always a good tie to have. Perhaps they should come to the palace." She said the last part mostly to herself, but Will still felt uneasy by it.

"Like… meet the employers?" He shuddered when he realized he'd eventually have to meet many of their _parents_.

Graciela scoffed. "Meet the employers, meet the parents; back in my day, you didn't meet the husband until after the marriage." She placed the board and pencil to the side. "I'll tell the ladies you didn't mark to stay, and you can eliminate them when the rest are gone." She spun on her heels and stalked into the room, the doors slamming shut behind her. It didn't take a special device to hear Graciela clearing the others into the hallway for lunch, and he counted down for half a minute before forcing himself into the adjourning room.

Of the eight girls, half seemed excited, and half seemed to know exactly what would happen. Those included in the latter didn't seem as angry as he would've expected, but there was a touch of defeat in their eyes that made him want to run away and never come back. Obviously, the hopeful looks from the others did nothing to support his decision.

He cleared his throat. "I want to start off by thanking you all for signing up for the Selection. Unfortunately––"

"You're eliminating us," one of them said. He simply nodded, not trusting his words when he saw tears spring in one of the ladies eyes. None made a huge commotion, aside from one lady indiscreetly rolling her eyes and leaving the room first. Will didn't move as they left, letting his final glances of them be their disappointed gazes.

* * *

The high tea room was mostly clear of patrons, except for the occasional higher noble occupying a table in the far corners. Madeline, with her delicately embroidered dove grey dress, sat with her posture as straight as it could go before her back snapped in half, just barely resisting the urge to lean her elbows on the table. For a moment, she debated if risking water on her sleeves was worth supporting her spine, but was saved from making such a rash decision when a waiter entered the room, the Ladies Saskia and Willow behind him. Saskia was openly curious of her surroundings, taking in everything she could with eyes wide as galaxies. Willow, on the other hand, was more reserved with her glances; but whatever she studied, she studied intently. After they were introduced and everyone had gone through their proper introductions, Madeline moved her chair closer to the table and placed her hands on her lap.

"I'd like to start by saying you both can call me Madeline," she smiled. A maid poured them tea, expertly floating the pot from cup to cup, not spilling a drop. "Please, enjoy the food and tell me about yourselves."

In the moments that followed after Madeline finished talking, there was a silence that gave her the sure fear this would become an afternoon of quiet lulls and clashing spoons. The maid walked away after setting down the last tray of pastries, despite Willow and Saskia already having their plates––and mouthes––full of them. Just as Madeline had accepted her dire fate, Saskia held up a finger and covered her mouth with her hand while she quickly chewed.

"I'm a coding intern," she said when she had straightened herself out. "I also managed not to fuck up with Graciela." Her eyes went wide. "Shit––I mean, uh, darn."

Willow watched the exchange almost fearfully, a cup of tea poised just before her lips. Saskia, the poor girl, seemed downright terrified. The terror changed to confusion, and then melted into relief when Madeline burst out laughing.

"Are you sure?" Madeline asked, clutching her stomach. "What if she's having a heart attack in the medical wing, as we speak?"

Willow shook her head. "Impossible––that woman is terrifying."

They fell into a discussion about their lives before the Selection, and Madeline learned Saskia ran a feminist club in her university, and Willow had lived in Japan and Korea prior to her family's moving to Illéa. Madeline had even managed to get out details of their meetings with Will, and both seemed proud of their standings. Most surprisingly, however, they prompted her with questions as well: what it was like growing up at the forefront of the public's eye, what she would be were she not royal, and even things as fickle as her favourite colour or dessert. All in all, the conversation was pleasant until Madeline brought up their families. Saskia's smile faded a bit, her eyes suddenly fascinated with the pieces of cake lying on her plate. Willow looked downright dreary, her posture slipping into an exhausted hunch.

"I miss them, I suppose," Willow said. "I haven't been separated from my family for so long."

Saskia shrugged. "Being away at university, I'm used to it."

Madeline desperately wished she could take back her words. "I know I wouldn't be able to take it if I were gone from Will for too long," she said softly. "But don't worry about it––they'll be coming to the palace soon enough."

"What makes you think I'd make it that far?" Saskia asked. Madeline took small note of the way she had left Willow out of her question.

"My birthday's just around the corner––a month and a half away, actually. And, if your interviews went as smoothly as you say, I have no worries that you won't be here." She hoped her smile was as reassuring as her words.

"My birthday's today," Willow barely whispered. "I've never had a birthday without my sister, and vice versa."

Madeline leaned forward, taking Willow's hands in her own. "If I or Will had known, we would've let you come later," she frowned. "Should we prepare your ball for tomorrow? I know it's not the same as actually being on your birthday, but––"

"No, no." Willow took her hands from Madeline's and waved them in protest. "A ball isn't necessary. All this––" she gestured around the room "––is present enough."

Saskia nudged her with her shoulder. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty." Willow smiled bashfully. "It's strange to think about, to be quite honest."

"Twenty was a good year for me," Saskia reassured. "It'll be great––especially when you'll get to start the year in the palace."

"The food and views are wonderful," Madeline confirmed. Both of them smiled back at her, and the conversation form then on was simple yet entertaining. By the end, Madeline was sorry it was over so quickly. Willow and Saskia had made moves to curtsy, but she quickly brought them both into brief hugs: "If you can call me Madeline, you can definitely drop the curtsies."

When the trio had parted ways, Madeline lagged behind in the tea parlour, overseeing the maids as they swiftly cleaned up their table and prepared for the next day. Walking to a window overlooking the gardens, she peered out and saw a few Selected milling around the flowerbeds, but no one in particular stood out to her. Not minding the fresh air, Madeline made her way outside, despite the desperation of wanting to change out of the scratchy sleeves of her dress. The air was crisp against her face, but she couldn't have appreciated it more. She floated past the pastel flowers, down towards the rose garden her mother had planted herself. Perhaps it was a mother's touch, but Madeline and Will always felt most calm surrounded by the red petals than anywhere else in the garden––even more so than the flowers planted in honour of their Aunt Elizabeth, where her father had usually gone for comfort.

Thinking of him wasn't as crushing anymore; in fact, she thought she was getting better, getting a move on with the grieving process. God knows Will had left her in the dust weeks ago, in that respect, but time took time, as her mother would always gently remind her––and, speaking of, she sat on a bench surrounded by her flowers and overlooking a crystalline pond.

Rosaline wasn't alone.

Calvin Pentwist was beside her, an arm securely wrapped around her back. She was leaning into him, her head hanging lowly despite being propped against his shoulder. Madeline slowed her walk upon detecting a low conversation happening between the two, and not wanting to interrupt whatever was… going on, she figured she would have to turn back and let them have their peace (but gently inquire with her mother about it later), or stay incognito and get as much as she could from them.

She chose the route that involved less patience.

Much to the would-be chagrin of Ishani and Graciela, Madeline ducked into one of the bushes, a few yards off from her mother and Calvin. On her hands and knees, she crawled around the roses, closer to the pond and in an area where she would be able to clearly see their faces. She leaned deeper into the roses as their voices became clearer, easy to hear over the moving water behind her.

"I'm not sure what they'll think," her mother was saying, eyes downcast. "I'm sure Will will be delighted, but Madeline––"

"––won't take it as well ." Calvin finished for her. Rosaline buried herself deeper into him, and he repositoned the arm around her so he could gently twirl the ends of her hair. It was so strangely intimate to see her mother act this way with anyone but her father, Madeline wanted to jump up and demand an explanation for their actions. Instead, she pressed herself closer into the flowers, slowly moving away the branches blocking her eyesight. Her mother and Calvin sat in silence for a few moments, until Rosaline straightened herself so she could turn to him.

"Who's the most like him?" she asked. Calvin smiled softly and looked past her, thinking.

"Madeline, most definitely," he said at last, and Madeline's spirits soared. "She has a special fire––a motivation––within her Richard had from childhood. Whatever drives Will forward is different than both of them."

Rosaline chuckled. "Most people say he's like me."

"He's kind, and trusting beyond belief––I wouldn't doubt that for a moment."

Rosaline smiled and moved to say something, but she suddenly jerked forward and clutched her stomach. She mumbled something under her breath that Madeline couldn't quite catch. Whatever it was, Calvin placed his hand over hers and dropped his mouth to her ear, whispering something. Her mother had her eyes squeezed shut, but after releasing a shaky breath nodded in agreement to what he was saying.

"It was never like this with Madeline and Will."

"That was nearly twenty years ago, Rosaline."

The Queen didn't put up a protest and leaned into him. "I'm worried."

"I am too, but you'll do wonderfully," he reassure.

"Always one of such faith," Rosaline teased, the beginnings of a smile teasing her lips.

"One has to be when involved with such dire people."

She swatted at his shoulder. "Shh, nothing negative for the next six months."

 _Wait_.

The pieces came crashing together, arranging a portrait of her worst thoughts. She didn't know how she hadn't noticed before, if not with her mother's worrying over telling something to her and Will, and then to the hiccup with her stomach––she was pregnant. And her coziness with Calvin could only mean that it was his child, which could only be possible if she had been––

Madeline shot out of the roses bushes, scrambling to get up. The grass proved soft, though, as her feet slipped from under her and into the pond. She tried to kick and crawl her way back onto dry land, but her legs only sank in after, and soon after they were dragging in the rest of her. Angeles may have been on the warmer side of the country, but damn if the water didn't prick into every cell of her body. Losing her centre of gravity, Madeline ended up going into the pond with her back facing the bottom, and for a moment, she floated in the water, staring up at the sun glaring through the water and the fabrics of her dress floating around her like a silk cloud. No more than a few seconds passed before her lungs began crying for air, and she pushed herself to surface. She broke through sputtering, water in her eyes and hair plastered to her face. She wasn't the least bit surprised that Rosaline and Calvin stood at the edge of the pond, concern and confusion radiating off them faster than the sun could hit her face.

"What the fuck!" Madeline exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. The damp fabric dragged her arms down, hitting the water with a resounding splash and droplets flying off in every direction.

"Madeline," Rosaline started, "why are you in the pond?"

"What matters isn't why I'm here, but what I heard." Both adults had enough decency to look embarrassed, even separating themselves a bit. It didn't matter what they did now, because Madeline already knew what they'd done before and it made her want to throw up.

"So you were planning on telling me and Will about your little love fest, huh?" Madeline scoffed. "Sorry I ruined the surprise."

"I know you're thinking the worst." She mumbled the next part mostly to herself: "because you're your father's daughter." Rosaline stepped around the edge of the water, approaching where Madeline had waded her way though and crawled out. "I assure you, it's not at all what you think it is."

"It's exactly what I think it is," Madeline snapped, wringing out the water from the skirt of her dress. Her hair was a lost cause at this point, so she didn't bother trying to do anything to fix it. "You're a goddamn liar and a cheat, and I feel bad for whatever child will be raised by your crooked system."

"Madeline." Rosaline stepped towards her, but Madeline took plenty of steps back.

"Tell Will whenever you want, but I doubt he'll react as well as you think." With that, Madeline turned on her heels and stalked back to the palace. She moved towards the South doors––one of the lesser frequented entrances in the palace. She avoided a run-in with anyone on her way indoors, but the moment she stepped inside she was met by a group of councilmen, because of course they had to be on this side of the palace at this very moment.

The only familiar face was Max, who stepped forward and simply said, "Madeline?" with concern flashing across his face. She didn't slow her walk, simply raising a finger and saying "No."

Compared to the gardens, the palace itself held many people buzzing around, and all of them had enough sense not to interrupt Madeline on her warpath up the stairs. When she finally made it into her room, she didn't hesitate before ripping off her dress, irritatedly pulling at the buttons. In her bathroom, the damp fabrics fell in a dove grey pool around her feet, and she quite literally kicked the dress to the side and pulled on a robe, too furious to settle down for a bath. Looking herself in the mirror, she only saw a daughter more rageful than words could say.

She moved into her main bedroom, where pictures and books lined her shelves. On the desk across from her bed, her notebook lay open to yesterday's notes, pens and highlighters scattered around it. Madeline barely restrained herself from picking one of them up and snapping them in half, or ripping out pages from her notebook. Instead, she turned to the framed picture she had always proudly displayed on the edge of her desk: herself, Will, and their parents smiling in the very spot where she had just felt her life fall out of place. The photograph was taken three, maybe four, years ago, when they had all helped her mother assemble the beginnings of her garden. Much against their wishes of privacy, the royal photographer insisted on at at least one photograph, and so became the display of Madeline at her peak of happiness. She distinctly remembered how much she had desired a relationship like her parents on that day, when they couldn't stop cracking jokes at each other and tumbling back into the grass. Madeline had always thought of them as the epitome of true love, indestructible despite whatever may have been thrown their way.

She threw the picture at the wall and screamed.


	6. A Margarita Mix

_**A/N:** writing from my life post lorde concert and honestly, i'm a changed woman._

 _glad y'all liked the twisty twist of the past chapter! it was v fun to see ur reactions and i relate to you guys so much. some more featuring of your faves and if you thought madeline was The Worst™ before, wait until you read this lol. love you all loads!_

* * *

Ishani didn't say anything when Madeline told her she didn't feel like getting up in the morning. She also didn't say anything the night before, when she walked in on Madeline crying over broken pieces of a picture frame, her hands bloodied; she had simply led her into the bathroom to get cleaned off and then into her bed, where she held her until she cried herself into a restless sleep. Madeline wouldn't have been surprised if her maid had stayed with her all night, but was too drained to ask, with just enough energy to beg her not to tell her mother. When Ishani had left, the room was filled with the type of quiet that would surely have driven Madeline mad if she let it too deep into her head. In a desperate attempt to keep it together, she shuffled around until she was sitting up and leaning against her headboard. She turned to her night table and rummaged around for her glasses, which she was haphazardly putting on before the door creaked open.

"Hey," Aunt Margarita greeted softly, gently closing the door behind her. "Your maid said you weren't feeling well."

"I thought she wouldn't tell anyone," Madeline grumbled. Still, she moved to one side to allow room for Margarita to sit down.

"You told her not to tell your mother," Margarita said pointedly. "Besides, I'm the cool aunt."

"Vodka aunt," Madeline corrected.

She waved the correction away, but quickly shifted into a more somber tone, much to Madeline's dismay. "Rosaline told me what happened." Her blue eyes dimmed. "It's not what––"

"I don't want to talk about it," Madeline interrupted sharply, posture hardening.

"Okay, okay." Margarita put a hand up in surrender. "But let me say one thing."

Madeline huffed, but didn't outright disagree.

"Your mother loved your father very much," she told her quietly, like something would break if she spoke too loud. "When he died, it was as if the love had been sucked right out of her."

"I remember." Madeline couldn't stop the memories of the countless times her mother had broken down, privately or not, from flashing across her thoughts. It didn't soothe the betrayal she still felt.

"They were hopelessly in love, and despite the hell they had to go through they always chose each other." Her smile was sad. "Her and Calvin were something that came together after your father died––she needed that support, Madeline."

"She had me and Will," Madeline said weakly.

"It's not the same and you know it." After letting that sink in, she perked up again, pulling them out of the melancholic void they had slipped into. "You didn't want to talk about it, so let's talk about something else," she suggested.

Madeline fished around for ideas, settling onto a topic that pulled at her curiosity. "Tell me about your childhood."

Margarita's face fell for less than a second, like a flash of the truth through the crack of a mask. "It's not a very happy story," she warned.

"I know." Madeline slid deeper into her covers. "I've only heard bits and pieces, and there's no one else who would tell me."

Margarita nodded slowly, and leaned against the bed, casting her eyes upwards. "My childhood was filled with nativity, and Atticus' with pain," she began. "He may be twelve minutes older, but he took up the mantle of older brother as if he had twelve _years_ over me," she laughed bitterly. "He would put himself between our father and I, in hopes of dulling the force of anything that could have been thrown my way––physically or emotionally.

"Our mother was quite a bit younger than our father, and too afraid to speak against him. Sometimes, I wondered how she could have fallen for a man like him, but I quickly learnt he had a way of charming people––especially when he was younger and courting her––so I suppose it was really no fault of hers," she rambled, eyes cast to the ceiling. Just as Madeline began to think her aunt may have forgotten she was talking to someone, Margarita moved her head to face her, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

"Marid Illéa could charm entire governments if he wanted, and with a power that great it amazes me that your grandmother never had him locked away. We figured the death of our mother would have been the final push to sentence him to such a life, but memories and feelings aren't enough in court and law." Her eyes darkened, and she didn't say anything for a few moments, lost in her thoughts. Finally, she looked at Madeline, her eyes glassy.

"He killed her," she said simply. "Atticus and I knew it all along, that he was so blinded by rage and jealousy he beat her down until she couldn't stop bleeding." Margarita bit her lip harshly and shut her eyes tightly. "Genesis Gabrielle Newsome-Illéa deserved far more than what she got: a psychopathic husband and two children she couldn't protect." She looked away, lost in a memory. "In the end, Atticus nearly broke trying to carry the burdens on his shoulders. On some nights it was hard to believe that he wasn't as dark and cynical as he is now; that giving him a nickname after a brooding and serious character had simply been because of the fun and games."

"I can only think of a few instances when he actually cracked a smile," Madeline confessed. "It was so long ago, it must have been around the time Aunt Liz died––actually, I think the only times I remember him being happy was when she was around."

Margarita smiled sadly, and Madeline was nearly positive there was something else hidden behind it. "Elizabeth could make anyone smile. I remember multiple occasions when your father had her talk to political figures, just to sway them onto our side." She sighed. "I think the day of her funeral was the unhappiest I had ever seen your father––it ruined him."

"And now his death ruined my mother."

"That sickness just has us spiralling in a never ending cycle, doesn't it?" Margarita mused, playing with a piece of Madeline's hair.

"A sickness that I'll likely die from," Madeline muttered darkly.

"No." Margarita dropped her fingers from Madeline's hair and sternly held a finger in her face. "You are going to live a long, happy, life and will have a bunch of adorable children and create a lasting legacy on this country." She grabbed Madeline's hands in hers, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "I will not see another great person of the Schreaves reduced to ash because of a bullshit disease brought into your family line from some queen generations ago."

"I'll try not to die." Madeline said encouragingly, though the smile with it came out sadder than she would have wished.

Margarita gathered the young girl into her arms and hugged her fiercely. "No matter what happens, remember that you are surrounded by people who love you." Then quietly, as if to herself, she whispered, "the ghosts never stick around, anyways."

* * *

Will had nearly forgotten of the twenty-seven women in his home––and it seemed he was the only one. His mother and Madeline were already seated at the royal's table, though they were as far as they could be from each other and whispering intensely. He waved for the Selected to be seated from their curtsies as he made his way towards them, completely engrossed in trying to decode their conversation.

"I don't understand why you won't take it away," Madeline was saying as Will approached them. "All that's tied with it are bad memories."

"It's symbolic," Rosaline countered, "and whenever I see it I think of all good things."

"That's bullshit," Madeline scoffed. She barely glanced at Will as he sat down.

"Hello, family," he greeted, slightly confused. "What's the argument accompanying today's meal?"

"Having that––" she pointed to the chair where their father would have sat "––removed."

"… Why?"

"Because every time I see it I want to cry," Madeline snapped. Rosaline rolled her eyes.

"I think it's just fine," their mother said in a softer tone than his sister's. "It'll stay where it is."

Madeline did look like she was about to cry then, her eyes glazing over and mouth parting slightly, though no sound came out.

"Is everything alright?" Will questioned, genuinely concerned.

"Of course nothing is alright," Madeline snapped, snatching her hand away when he placed his on it in a sign of comfort.

"Is it… relationship troubles?" Her and Max seemed to be moving along just fine, last he noticed.

"There are no relationships to have troubles with!" Her mouth hung open in shock at his assumption.

"But, what do you call sleeping with Max?"

The Queen chocked from the other side of him. She quickly covered her mouth with a napkin to cover it up, waving away concerned looks pointed her way.

"Don't hurt the baby," Madeline said starchily, throwing an obviously fake smile in her direction. "You still have six months to go."

"Five," she snipped. "You can scream at it in person by early June."

A silence descended. After a few moments of siren-loud thoughts, Will broke it with a quiet and confused "What?"

"I'll explain later," Rosaline said dismissively, waving away his concerns. At the same time, Madeline oozed with sarcasm as she responded: "Ask mother who she's been fucking."

Will's lack of understanding only deepened, interrupted by the doors opening for Calvin Pentwist. His mother perked up a bit, but Madeline's mood only gained velocity. Some of the Ladies looked up from their meal, but surprisingly stayed in their own conversations, unaware of the drama unfolding some feet away. As the older man approached their table the enthusiasm he had when he entered decreased slightly, his cheerful walk slowing down when he was met with Madeline's glare.

"Hello," Rosaline greeted him sweetly, her eyes warm as she gazed up at him.

"Uh, hi," he said, partially distracted with the impromptu staring contest he started up with the princess. She rolled her eyes and looked at her food, glaring as she stabbed the vegetables with a vengeance.

"Just came to give you these." He handed a thin file to the queen. "Personally delivered from the doctor––I've never seen such a disapproving glare," he joked, his demeanour melting into something far more relaxed than it had been moments before.

"Wait, Mom, are you okay?" Will asked, fully processing what Calvin had said, about files from the doctor.

Rosaline waved his concerns away. "Yes, yes; I'll explain––"

"Oh my God," Madeline exploded from the other side of him. "How have you _not_ put the pieces together? She's been fucking Calvin and is pregnant with his child!"

Many things happened at once, the most notable events being Rosaline's slack-jawed stare and Calvin indecorously saying "Excuse me?" at her outburst. Madeline had no shame, staring them both down, and Will sat still where he was, _very_ confused. Thankfully, Madeline's commotion hadn't been so loud as to disrupt the Selected, who by some otherworldly grace hadn't seemed to have heard a thing.

"Congratulations?" William heard himself saying, after a few tense moments had gone by. Rosaline gave him a small smile, but seemed to still be recovering from the shock of being exposed so harshly. Calvin and Madeline remained with their gazes locked tightly, neither of them willing to back down. Drawing from past experiences, Will wouldn't be surprised if they stayed that way all day.

"We'll talk about it later," Rosaline said softly, patting her son's hand. He nodded slowly, not saying a thing. He didn't even break his silence when Madeline broke her stare with Calvin and pushed herself up from the table, storming away with everyone's eyes trailing after her until the doors slammed shut.

* * *

Madeline never found it hard to conclude that her life sucked marvellously. She knew it when she was nine, and her Aunt Elizabeth died, or when she was fourteen and tried to swipe a knife across her wrists. When she was thirteen a guard grabbed her ass and laughed to his friends when she screamed, and she was eleven when Gabrielle stole her poems and claimed them as her own. All in all, most events involved something being taken away from Madeline, but never once had she thought her _sanity_ would soon be added on the list. Her mother and Calvin's mind games kept screwing her over, and it was as if everything she had been so sure of was being pulled from under her in the blink of an eye. Though, the last thread she was sure she could confidently hold onto was Max.

Or so she thought.

After a tense council meeting, where she and Calvin wouldn't let off each other's backs, she made sure to wait for Max as they exited the room. They walked in a comfortable silence, until Madeline happened across a door and no one in sight. In a single motion, she opened the door and pulled Max inside. Deciding against drawing attention by turning on the light switch, she pressed her back against the door, Max leaning against her. Through the darkness, she could barely make out his outline, his dark suit blending in with the shadows. His hands were warm against her waistline, though her own felt cold, entwined behind his neck. Neither of them spoke, only the sounds of their heavy breathing mixing and filling the small space; somehow, they had been pressed so close together their lips brushed at the smallest movements.

The warmth inside Madeline wouldn't stop growing.

"Kiss me," she whispered. Max didn't move, though––in fact, it was like he hadn't heard her at all. Suddenly, he pushed himself away with such force that he nearly crashed into the shelves lining the walls. The craving Madeline felt before was quickly replaced by confusion and, strangely enough, anger.

"We flirt and sleep together, but you won't even kiss me?" Madeline snipped, throwing her hands in the air.

Max turned to her, eyes wide. "We did _not_ sleep together. At least, not in that context."

"What other context is there! God, I am so _sick_ of everyone fucking me over––"

"Madeline." Max stepped forward. "You were drunk."

"… What?"

"On New Years," he clarified, "you were drunk. I took you to your room and slept on the couch––nothing happened."

"But why are you so casual with me now? You don't refer to me as 'your Highness' or something pretentious like that." She laughed hollowly.

"You made it my New Year's resolution, to call you Madeline." He smiled softly, his eyes sparkling in the corners. "I figured I may as well try to keep up with it."

He was so damn sweet, she actually started crying; tears ran down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hands, thinking how truly pathetic she must have been, crying in a storage closet. Unsurprisingly, Max stepped forward and gathered her in his arms, his warmth surrounding her.

"I don't want to be the reason you cry," he murmured into her hair.

"It's not you," she insisted, wiping the tear tracks off her cheeks. "I thought something had happened, and you didn't like me like that––"

"I assure you, I very much do." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but didn't move his hand away. She leaned into his touch. "I can show you how much on Saturday, perhaps?"

Madeline smiled coyly. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"If you say yes."

She laughed, for what felt like the first time in months. "I say yes."

He pressed a kiss on her cheek, just by her ear. "Then it's a date."


	7. Pianos & Apologies

_**A/N:**_ _currently in the process of revamping and restarting, so don't mind this update! if you read chapter 7 when it first came out (like a year ago yikes) it's the same content, with minor changes to detail; i would recommend a quick read through to refresh yourself. the next chapter will be entirely new content!_

* * *

The girls were rather fond of little Angelina, and Madeline couldn't say she blamed them. The toddler had no filter, and held an infinite reservoir of energy and imagination that kept everyone entertained with her wild stories and various games. Lady Verona seemed to have the most of the three-year-old's attention, though it wasn't much of a fair competition considering her job as a nanny before the Selection. However, whether they held her attention or not, the ladies were happy to sit around and watch Angelina do whatever interested her, which was of great assistance to Christine.

"I think I've forgotten what it's like to breathe," Christine said, lounging beside Madeline with a wine glass in hand. "I don't think I've ever gotten a day to myself since I was nineteen."

"I can't imagine dealing with a kid at that age." Madeline shuddered. "I'll be nineteen in a month and I don't see myself with a child for at least another five years."

"Good." Christine raised her glass in a mock-toast. "It was retched."

Madeline couldn't help the laughter that spilled past her lips. Over the week she had spent in close proximity with Christine, she learnt so much about her sister that she hadn't bothered to care about over the course of her eighteen years of life; she had realized that Christine's humour held a darker twist to it, and that she had such a deep love of literature she had a makeshift library built in her quarters. She had spent much of her childhood in France at boarding school, and while there trained intensely in ballet. Christine admitted that had she not fallen pregnant, she would have easily pursued a career in dance. Madeline managed to milk out the promise of a performance in the coming weeks.

Madeline was almost disappointed when she noticed Graciela had arranged the Selected to sit in a semi-circle on the couches and chairs and had begun another lesson in history and etiquette. Angelina toddled back to Christine, who shot Madeline an apologetic look and whispered something about putting her down for a nap. That left Madeline to watch Graciela give the Selected lessons she had already been given as a child, and Aunt Margarita softly playing the piano from across the room. She hadn't talked to her since their conversation from a few days back, and Madeline felt it had ended on the wrong tone. She got up and approached the older woman almost cautiously, not wanting to disrupt the peace she seemed to have built up. Though Margarita's eyes were closed, she smiled softly and greeted Madeline.

"How have you been?" Margarita's hands didn't stop effortlessly floating across the piano keys.

"Better," was all Madeline supplied. Margarita didn't push any further for an answer.

Madeline felt antsy––nervous. She fidgeted with the skirt of her dress, picking up the top layer and crinkling it between her fingertips before moving to the ring on her right hand and turning the band around her finger. Though the song Margarita played filled whatever space could have been occupied with silence, Madeline still felt something pressing down onto her chest and shoulders, suffocating her enough to the point that she blurted out without thought: "Did your mother teach you?"

Margarita paused, her fingers resting in the air just above the keys. A smile crossed her face. "Your great-grandmother, actually. My mother was more inclined towards the violin."

Madeline moved closer to the edge of her seat. "I thought she was crazy––that's what Dad would say."

Her aunt hummed, shifting on the piano bench so she could face Madeline head-on. "I was young––younger than you––when she caught me delicately pressing the keys on a piano in one of her personal rooms. I was so scared she would be furious and thought I had broken it, but instead she laughed and invited me to sit with her. She played this beautiful song––I have it memorized by heart, I'll never forget it––and asked if I wanted to learn."

"You said yes?"

"What else could you say to the Queen Mother?" she laughed, "and in any case, I really had wanted to learn. When I was a child, my father would sit me on his lap and spend hours on the piano in his study. Eventually, when I was old enough to properly learn, the grand instrument became more of a decoration than anything else." Her hands seemed to involuntarily brush the keys.

"I would have loved to meet her," Madeline said quietly, when her aunt didn't say anything else.

"She was like a firecracker, but she couldn't have been more loving. I rather think of her as a mentor, after all we've been through." At first, Madeline thought she was thinking of a happier time, given the smile on Margarita's face. However, the tears that glazed over her eyes showed she was thinking of anything but. She seemed to have been doing lots of crying in the past week. Madeline reached out to place a hand on her in comfort, but a maid came bustling back instantaneously stirring up a whirlwind of conversation about something that needed her Aunt's immediate attention.

Taking it as her cue to leave, Madeline slipped out of the Women's Room. She walked with no real destination in mind, but ended up in the one place that had always fed into her curiosity: the Hall of Portraits. Though it was one of the two hallways that connected directly to the palace's Grand Foyer, there was no one to be seen––Madeline attributed it to being that strange limbo time in the afternoon, when most of the staff had their breaks and stayed in the servant's quarters, and mostly everyone had nothing of great importance to do.

The portraits were arranged with the more current royals at the front, and the eldest at the back of the hall. The amount of past kings and queens along with the in-depth information provided about them was already tremendous enough, but the inclusion of portraits and biographies of royal siblings and children that never ruled led for Madeline and Will taking nearly a month to get through every detail provided. There was a large gap on the wall at the very front, where her father's portrait would be hanged. Her mother had been meaning to choose what picture of his would be put on display, but months had gone by in the blink of an eye and she still hadn't gotten around to it.

They had asked Madeline to write his biography.

She hadn't given the committee an exact answer, yet. Part of her knew that if she declined she would regret it for what could be the rest of her life, but another part was terrified––terrified she wouldn't do him justice, that she didn't know him as well as she thought she did. He had secrets, and ghosts, and skeletons in the closet, she knew, but she didn't know when it would be an appropriate time to approach her mother on the topic. Though the details––depending how severe––wouldn't be added into the official writing she would submit, she assumed it would be nice to know the full picture.

She found herself drifting down the hallway, past where her father would soon be. Her Aunt Elizabeth smiled down at her, glowing in the soft light of the photograph. As Madeline had noticed when she was younger, her aunts eyes were looking at something behind the camera, not directly at it. Whatever (or whoever) it was certainly brought her great joy, as her eyes were lit up and the picture seemed to have been snapped just before a laugh. Moving further down the wall, Madeline found that Elizabeth's mother looked the very opposite.

The late Queen pierced the camera with eyes that looked like the broken shards of a forest. She held her head high and stiffly, not a browned hair out of place, even with the heavy crown weighing her down. There was no trace of a smile on her face, not even the slightest bit of joy or happiness. When Madeline looked to her eyes (they were the gateway to anyone's true feelings, according to psychology) she found that they were dead; there was no emotion, no love, no /feeling./ Her picture certainly made her seem as terrible as she had always been described.

"God, they haven't burnt that already?"

Madeline could feel the hatred rolling off her mother as she came to stand beside her. She peaked a glance at her, and saw that Rosaline was analyzing every detail she could, as if searching for some hidden message. Her lips had taken on an involuntary scowl.

"I don't think that's allowed," Madeline responded quietly.

"Being heartless and non-empathetic shouldn't be allowed, yet here she is." Rosaline tore her eyes away from the portrait.

"Was she really that horrible? Well, I suppose the picture doesn't exactly help her cause."

"The absolute worst." She rolled her eyes, but another thought seemed to occur to her and they softened immensely. "I never understood how Richard and Elizabeth could have been related to someone akin to the devil incarnate."

Rosaline moved to sit on a bench and Madeline followed suit. "What about their father? Did he instil some sort of good in them?"

Her mother's face hardened up again. "He was likely the reason she became as terrible as she was. He wasn't very present with Richard and Elizabeth––but then again, neither was she."

Madeline paused. "That must have sucked."

"Indeed it did," Rosaline sighed. Without warning, she grabbed one of Madeline's hands and squeezed it. "I'm sorry I never told you; about the baby, about Calvin."

"I'm sorry I was so rude about it. You and Calvin didn't deserve that." She squeezed her mother's hand back.

"I should have told you and Will sooner," Rosaline admitted. "There's just so many things…" Tears welled in her eyes.

It struck something wrong in Madeline to see her mother cry. She took her hands in hers and held them close to her chest, willing Rosaline to look at her. "Mama, please don't think this is your fault. It's no ones fault that Dad died, and you certainly shouldn't feel bad about getting close to Calvin. I know there's things me and Will would never understand."

Her mother lifted their clasped hands and pressed a kiss against the back of Madeline's. "I don't think I deserve you as my daughter."

"You probably deserve better."

Rosaline laughed. After a moment passed, she spoke up again, much quieter than before. "If you want to, you can come to one of my… appointments." Rosaline had always attended bi-weekly appointments with a psychologist of sorts––just someone to talk to, after all she had been through. Ironically, most of the worst of it had been inflicted by the women who's picture they sat under.

Madeline hugged her, melting comfortably into her mother's arms; she had forgotten what it felt like to be safe. "Of course," she whispered, "I won't miss it."

The Queen chuckled and moved back, wiping at the tears that had fallen from her eyes, and then the ones that had wet Madeline's cheeks. "Well," she started, "you better get ready for the Report. Make sure you don't stay up too late after––you'll need to be fresh and ready for your date with Max tomorrow."

Madeline's mouth fell open. "How did you know?"

Rosaline shrugged playfully. "Despi found out and told Calvin who told me." She laughed. "And I may of told Margarita, who probably told Will, Alexander, and Atticus."

"Oh my God." Madeline buried her head in her hands. "Does the whole palace know?"

"Not yet." Rosaline winked. "Come on, don't let that get to you. First dates can lend themselves to be some of the most memorable. Just, go get ready for the Report now. Show him a preview of what he'll get tomorrow."

"I am letting this get to me, thank you very much." Madeline stood up and straightened out her dress. "Love you."

"I love you too." Rosaline squeezed her hand a final time. Despite having resolved any worries she had had with her mother, something unsettling weighed down on her, low in her stomach and on her mind, as she walked away.

(Later, Madeline realized that when she walked past her grandmother's portrait, she had thought she had felt the late Eadlyn Schreave's eyes follow her down the hall. )

* * *

Most unsurprisingly, William was nervous. Not so nervous that he couldn't rib Madeline on her upcoming date with Max, to which she responded by asking him about his plans for his date with Verona––the very first date of the Selection. The very first date, yet he had no clue what to do.

"Oh my God, you're so stupid," Madeline said when he admitted he hadn't thought of an idea. "You have one job."

"I thought we could go for dinner, but that feels too basic. And then I realized there's nothing else to do here that doesn't involve actual work. And most of it you can get away doing without talking, which is kinda of the opposite of what I'm hoping for," Will rambled. He sat on the steps of the stage, defeated. Madeline moved her dress out of the way to sit beside him.

"So if your ideal date is to just sit and talk..." She rolled her eyes, "I hate to break it to you, but the plan tailored just for that is dinner."

Will sighed. "C'mon, Mads, you know it's all about yoloing. I can't have the very first date of this shebag be a _dinner_."

"First of all." Madeline raised a finger, "never use 'yolo' as a verb again. Second, I can't exactly help you with this if you refuse the only option available to you. Honestly, you're turning this into too big a performance to please everyone but yourself; keep it simple."

Will shot up. "That's it! A performance. I remember reading that she was in her school's theatre program, and I'm almost positive she's told me she loves musicals." He started pacing, his brain going into overdrive with the million of new ideas that he was conjuring up.

"Take her to Hamilton. It's that pre-Illéa one about one of America's founding fathers. I used to listen to it on repeat so much that when Dad finally took me, I cried all the way through." Madeline leaned back on the step, the edge digging into her almost uncomfortably.

"Isn't it always sold out, like, months in advance?" The rush he had felt about finally coming up with something began to melt away as reality kicked in.

Madeline snorted. "More like years." At Will's crestfallen look, she added, "I'm sure you can arrange for something, even if it's the day before."

"Gotta love princely connections."

Madeline opened her mouth to respond, but stayed silent when her eyes cut away and followed someone behind him. She practically melted. "Oh my God, he's so hot."

Will turned around and followed her gaze, pinpointing it to Max talking with Calvin and his sisters. He turned back to her, raising an eyebrow, and realizing she was caught, Madeline's face drained of colour. Will made a move to start walking toward the family, and she tried to grab onto his sleeve, hissing "Will. William!" in an attempt to drag him back. By the time she had managed to stand up, he was already across the room.

"Max," he greeted warmly, "just the man I wanted to see."

"How are you, your Highness?" Max glanced at his father, who seemed just as perplexed by the prince's cheery mood.

"Please, call me Will; we're practically family," he insisted, waving a hand as if to dismiss any sense of formalities.

"Uh––what?"

Will had caught him off guard; in all honesty, it was exactly what he had hoped to do. "After New Years, I figured it would only be right for you to take Madeline on a _proper_ date."

Max caught onto what he was insinuating, and his eyes widened. "Nothing happened on New Years, your––uh, Will."

Will nodded slowly, considering what he had said. After just a moment too long, he replied, "You be good to my sister. I expect her in her room–– _alone_ ––by midnight."

Max looked a Calvin for some sort of assistance, but his father only shrugged, far too amused by what was unfolding in front of him. He turned back to Will, choosing his next words carefully. "I haven't touched your sister," he insisted. Then, under his breath, but still loud enough for those around him to hear, he said, "She tried to touch me."

"Like, she hugged you when you weren't expecting it?" Faye piped up beside him. Despi rolled her eyes.

"No, like they fu––"

Calvin practically leapt over and covered Faye's ears, while Max, burning red, muttered some choice expletives to his youngest sister. The thirteen-year-old simply huffed and rolled her eyes again, stalking off to find a seat in the audience. The remaining three Pentwists talked quietly amongst themselves before Faye gave Max a quick hug and went to the seating area for the Selected, and Max followed suit, heading to the councilmen's area. Will expected Calvin to follow his son, but he turned and faced the prince, a nostalgic smile on his face.

"I remember your father saying similar things," he laughed heartily. Will noticed he didn't specify about who his father had said those things to, but he didn't press further. "Must be some sort of Schreave family trait. Max should be glad Richard wasn't the one giving him that talk, otherwise I'm sure he'd have been scared out of his wits."

Will nodded, unsure of what to say. People––members of the council, specifically––could bring up memories of his father with no emotional repercussion. However, as of late, anytime Will heard his father's name he was thrown into a sort of vortex, never knowing how to respond. Thankfully, he was saved from an elongated silence when Calvin's eyes lit up, noticing someone from across the room. It was like watching a distorted parallel of Madeline when he excused himself and stepped away, Rosaline greeting him warmly when they met. They fell into an easy conversation, all smiles and laughter and only good things. Will missed seeing his mother smiling.

The lights dimmed slightly, and people began rushing around, trying to find their places. Someone pushed him up on the stage and into a seat, and next thing he knew lights were in his face and an audience of people watched him expectantly. His head felt heavy as he remembered tonight was his first interview of the Selection.

Seemed like he had another thing to be nervous about.

"How's it been, your Highness?" Jamieson asked, settling into the seat across from him.

"Busy. Very busy," Will replied. He tried to remember to breathe and remember to smile, as his father had instructed him. It was all about charisma and likability. And really, he must have been much better off than some of the Selected––he'd been doing this all his life, and some of them had never stepped in front of a camera.

Just. _Breathe_.

"And how do you think you're Selected have been?" Jamieson gestured to where the Selected sat, off to the side of the camera.

"I can't speak for them, but I do hope they've been enjoying themselves." Some of the Selected whooped and clapped in response.

"Well, why don't we ask them?" The audience––and Selected––clapped intensely, and Will took it as his cue to slip off the stage. He made out Madeline's silhouette in the dark, mostly thanks to her bright emerald gown, and slipped in the seat beside her. She gave him a light punch, part payback for talking to Max, and part 'hey, I'm glad you made it through that.'

Saskia was the first to take the hot seat, but she exuded all confidence. She answered all of Jamieson's questions with ease, even garnering a few laughs here and there. Willow was called down next, and she was in stark contrast to the lady previous to her; even her dress portrayed a different mood, with Willow's being black and loose around her legs, whereas Saskia's had been a light pink and sticking to her like a second skin. Willow wasn't quiet, or shy, but she certainly wasn't bubbly or brimming at the edges with a pent-up energy. She was simply confident in her own way.

Verona was called up next. Will was partially concerned when he caught a peak of her seemingly unimpressed face as she walked up the stage. However, the second she hit the camera's view she lit up with a smile, shaking Jamieson's hand with enthusiasm before taking a seat.

"Lady Verona," he started, "it's been said that you've been chosen as the Prince's first date of the Selection." A few curious murmurs rose up through the audience. "How are you feeling about that?"

"A little nervous, unsurprisingly," she laughed, "but I'm excited. My maids have been helping me with choosing an outfit all week."

Several laughs filled the room. "Do you know what His Highness plans to do?"

"Honestly, I haven't heard a word about it from him. I don't have any doubts about his planning skills, though––I'm sure it'll all be amazing." Her eyes caught his, and Will smiled, hoping it didn't come out looking pained. He assumed he looked normal enough because she smiled back at him. Damn, he really needed to get those tickets.

Lady Verona was led off the stage with a strong applause, and more girls were welcomed up. Ladies Lilah and Gemma certainly got the most laughs, both of them exuding charisma and charm and unafraid to answer any question tossed their way. Yael was one of the more poised of the Ladies, and Wren easily had the most personality. When Faye's name wasn't called, Will knew for certain that someone or the other had talked to Jamieson beforehand and gave him specific instructions to not throw her under the spotlight.

Lady Vivienne was the last Selected to be called, and Will was sure his entire row gave out a sigh of relief. Vivienne was always classy, respectable, and well-liked across Illéa. Whatever she would say would be good things only. Though, in her simple and straight black dress, it would have seemed she would be anything but Illéa's sweetheart.

"Lady Vivienne," Jamieson greeted, "a pleasure."

"The pleasures all mine." She flashed a pearly white smile. Good. That was a good thing.

"I must say, you are certainly one of the more intriguing of the Selected. Not only are you a well credited actress, but you've been a large part of the government take down of Russian rebels." Jamieson leaned back in his seat, raising an eyebrow. Alarmingly, it seemed as if he were suspicious, but Will had done this long enough to know it was all for theatrics.

Vivienne laughed, and it was practically a twinkle. "Yes, it was something I got into when filming for my show, /Sands Through the Hourglass/ subsided. I've always felt so patriotic of my country, I couldn't refuse when they approached with the offer."

"You're not Illéan by birth though, correct? You moved here when you were…" he shuffled around with his cue cards. "Nine?"

"Yes, that's true," Vivienne admitted, "but I don't remember much of my home country. It was rather war torn when I left. Illéa has always felt like home to me." There was a smattering of applause from the audience for her sentiment.

Jamieson nodded in understanding. "Well, it's certainly incredible what you've done. Honestly, how did you manage it?"

Vivienne cocked her head, something almost… dangerous playing in her eyes. "Well what's in my way?"

Madeline's hand shot out and gripped onto Will's arm. Her eyes were wide and she gave him a concerned look. Sure, the answer may have been a touch passive aggressive, but he was sure it wasn't anything too concerning. He heard Jamieson thank Vivienne for her time and turned back to the stage, only for Vivienne to catch his eye. The dangerous glint was still there.

* * *

Madeline had all but stumbled back into her room. There was a million things weighing down on her, like her upcoming date, hoping Will wouldn't mess up his own, and then there was the whole fiasco of the Selected's interviews and some of there God-awful responses. She wasn't lying when she said she was concerned about Vivienne's startling comparison.

She slumped in front of her vanity, plucking out her earrings and dropping them onto the hard surface. Ishani always had Fridays off (it was the least Madeline could give her) so she had become accustomed to taking off layers of fabric and makeup with no assistance. She grabbed her makeup removal set, holding the mirror at the right angle so she could see the entire side view of her face. Without realizing, while she was wiping at her cheeks her grip on the mirror had loosened, and with all the perspiration that had formed, it fell onto the wooden floor with an outstandingly loud _clang_. Madeline hissed a few choice words, slipping down on her hands and knees to retrieve the mirror, hoping it wasn't damaged. Upon picking it up, she thankfully realized there were no evident cracks, but saw a floorboard had shifted loose.

She moved the piece of wood away and discovered a rectangular hole just large enough to fit a bounded leather journal. It was overflowing with extra pages with what Madeline could only assume were letters, considering they were dated and addressed. She gathered up the journal-damn, it was heavy––and threw it on her bed, not noticing the _'Genevieve Beaumont_ ' engraved on the side.


	8. The First Date

_**A/N:** it's been a while and this is like... really short? but I think it works. short and rlly rlly sweet! anyways i got like a random burst of insp this afternoon (shoutout to ruby for being in my corner and motivating me further) and now we're back baby! i did some tweaking on earlier chapters (which you may or may not have gotten notifications for) so a quick read through is lowkey recommended. next chapter is the date with mads and max, and honestly we stan. thanks for sticking around!_

* * *

Will had never seen someone look so elated. Verona's face had absolutely lit up when he first told her they'd be seeing the famed Broadway show, _Hamilton_ , and he didn't think her smile had dropped since then. Her dress, strapless, midnight blue with floral golden embroidery, was bunched around her as she sat in the limo. It set off her golden hair wonderfully, Will had to admit. And as it turned out, Verona was an excellent conversationalist-they talked about so much yet so little in one go, it was difficult for Will to wrap his head around the fact that yes, this was only the second or third time he had a conversation with her. Mostly, he was just intoxicated-with her laugh, and her smile that shone brighter than the lights that passed in a blur as they drove downtown. He felt a lot of things at once, and at the root of it all he was also… content. Content with his choice, and where it was leading him.

Will wasn't the least bit surprised at how busy the street they pulled onto was, barely batting an eyelash as he stepped out of the car and moved around to Verona's side. Evidently, the lady was much more overwhelmed, her eyes having gone wider than he figured possible.

"Is this all… paparazzi?" she asked in a low tone.

Will smiled at her reassuringly. "It's mostly a crowd waiting to go in the theatre, or hoping to snag a cheap resale ticket. The faster we go in, the less likely we'll be noticed," he promised. Verona took his answer at face value, and accepted the hand he extended towards her. Her dress trailed behind her as she got out of the car, and she had to quickly move the skirt out of the way to avoid it snagging in the shut door. When she was fully grounded, she took a moment to observe their surroundings-the lights, and the people, and the absolute chaos of it all-and the amazement once again sparked up in her eyes. Will had been to the theatre enough to be familiar with this setting, but he was happy to let Verona have a moment to truly soak it in.

"Okay, I'm ready," she said, extending her arm and smiling widely. William returned the look and easily fell into step next to her. The doormen instantly recognized them and swung the doors open just enough for them to slip through. The crowd behind them groaned as the doors shut again.

The lobby of the theatre was magnificent. He barely caught her phone when she threw at him, demanding literally hundreds of pictures. Once she was settled with that, she wandered around, admiring the architecture. They didn't speak, but he felt like they didn't need to. There was a mutual understanding of enjoyment and excitement and, more specifically from Verona's end, curiosity.

"I can't believe I'm really standing in the Royal Angeles theatre." Verona broke the silence. "I used to dream about performing here, when we were just doing our small shows in community theatre. Like, somehow I'd get out of Hansport and make it as a star in the real world."

"I totally think you will," he responded without realizing it sounded like he didn't think she would make it through the Selection. He quickly reiterated: "only if this whole dating thing doesn't work out for you."

She smiled at him, a soft, genuine smile he had never seen before, and his heart soared. "So far, I think it's going pretty well."

* * *

"I'm going to _cry_."

Will looked to her in alarm. "Is that good?"

"Oh my God, it's amazing. This-" she waved her hands around "-is _amazing_. I can't believe I've made eye contact with Alexander Hamilton during three separate songs."

"Should I be concerned?" Will joked.

"Oh, definitely," she laughed through dabbing her eyes. "You're brilliant for going for the 4th row. Absolutely brilliant."

Despite being given the option of secluded balcony seating, which most nobles took, Will opted for the more intimate experience of getting to see the performance up close. It meant they were quite literally surrounded by bodyguards on all sides, and the people near them were equally annoyed and terrified, but Will figured it was well worth the little gasp Verona had let out when he led her to their seats.

"You're literally the best person ever," she had said then, and the praises hadn't stopped.

"My little sister, Kat, will absolutely lose her mind when I tell her about this. I-" A thought occurred to her, and she looked minutely defeated. "I'm allowed to tell her, right? Or is this all confidential until the Report?"

"You can tell her everything," Will assured. "The Committee doesn't want you posting on social media, is all. But you can text and call your sisters and tell them whatever you like."

Verona relaxed in her seat, immediately untensing. "I didn't know what I would do if I couldn't tell them-we always talk to each other about everything."

"I understand." Will nodded sympathetically. "I'm like that with Madeline. I gotta tell her every detail of my day.

Verona smiled, and the lights started dimming. "Really, thank you, your Highness. Words can't begin to describe how grateful I am."

"Call me Will, for starters," he reminded gently, thinking back to his slip-up when they first met. He saw no reason to go back on that now. "And you've been absolutely wonderful, Lady Verona."

Though it was practically pitch black, Will could have sworn her smiled widened as she said, "call me Ronnie."

* * *

"Put on _Helpless_ again!"

"Someone clearly has a favourite," William teased. He follow the request all the same, putting the song back on repeat.

"I sang it all the time to the kids, Livvy loved it the most," she explained, humming along to the song. "She adores musicals as much as I do, and I know for a fact she'd make the perfect Eliza one day. Y'know, I think you'd love her-she's a total ball of sunshine."

Verona was so caught up in the after-thrill of the show she was mostly rambling now, but Will had to admit it was cute. It was basically one in the morning, and somehow she looked just as put together as when they left, but happier to a tenfold. The warmth in his chest grew to an unimaginable size.

Ronnie grabbed his hands and serenaded him with lyrics of love, and he felt his heart burst.


	9. The First Date: Madeline Edition

_**A/N:** YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING I LOVE U ALLL. the reviews were such a nice welcome back and honestly motivated me so much! i don't have enough words to describe how absolutely touched i am. y'all are the real queens! _

_(anyways enjoy this chapter that i've been waiting to write since literally the very beginning when i was planning everything out. i love my children.)_

* * *

Madeline was nervous. Madeline Schreave didn't get nervous. Madeline Schreave would stare down the coldest of council members and international diplomats and have them agreeing to the documents she presented with a cool glance alone. She single handedly persuaded an entire section of the government off the thoughts of war and retaliating to empty threats with dangerous missiles. She did not get antsy, or feel so peculiar she couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes.

"You got a cold case of the butterflies," Ishani told her when she voiced her discomfort. "It means you want this real bad."

"Want what?" Madeline groaned. "It's a date, an event, what could I possibly _want_ from it?"

"Not so deep down, you know exactly how you want this to go." Ishani said, ironing out the final wrinkle in the satin black dress Madeline had chosen. "You're nervous that this isn't gonna work out how you imagined it. Classic butterfly moment."

Her maternaly maid was right, of course—Madeline knew exactly how she wanted this date to go. She wanted it to be the best night of her life, to be able to spend hours alone with a man she barely got minutes with anymore. They had both become so busy over the week since he had asked her out that the most they saw of each other was as they passed through the doors of conference rooms, or between scenes of the Report. She just wanted some time alone with him, and she wanted to laugh until her stomach was raw or kiss until her lips were bruised or smile until her cheeks hurt and she got to be a hundred percent, unconditionally herself without having to worry that she would scare him off. She had been herself—at her worst and her best—with Max around, and still he stood by her side. He had seen her delirious over sporadic all nighters as they scrambled to finish their work, and calm as a cat on lazy days.

It may have been their first official date, but in all the time they had gotten to know each other it just felt like another one of those nights to be spent in each other's company. Except this time, this specific night would determine if there'd be more of its kind in the future.

Madeline really, really, hoped so .

 _Big, blue butterflies are trapped inside my stomach because of a boy—have I gone insane?_

As if sensing her breakdown from across town, her phone rang with a text from Will. It was short and clearly rushed, since he likely just typed it out as he left for his own date. ' _You're gonna have so much fun_ ,' it read. ' _Text me as soon as it's over_.'

' _You too_ ,' she responded, though she figured he wouldn't see the response until hours later. Though it was a sweet and somewhat calming gesture, Madeline still felt something heavy in her stomach.

 _More butterflies came for the party,_ she thought.

She told Ishani she wanted to get ready on her own, and though initially concerned her maid left her to her own devices. Her dress was simple enough—black, with thin straps and a v-neck, delicately falling to just above her ankles. She pulled back and combed her hair until she was satisfied it was neat enough, then focused on trying to not poke her ears as she put in earrings. The ring from her aunt stayed on her right hand as always, and she added the simple necklace her mother had gifted her some years ago to complete her outfit. When she looked in her vanity mirror, she almost couldn't believe how much she glowed, the warmth from her chest emitting around her like an invisible halo.

She startled when there was a light knock on the door and her mother slipped in, evening dress rustling behind her. "Just wanted to see you before you're gone," she said softly, careful to close the door silently. When she looked up and saw her daughter sitting in anticipation and ready for her night, she beamed. "Oh, look at you."

"Mama." Madeline lightly rolled her eyes when Rosaline came to give her a hug, but she reciprocated it all the same. "It's not a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal!" she exclaimed, moving back to hold her at arm's length. "He's your first boyfriend—your first real date."

Madeline blushed under her mother's expectant gaze. "It's just Max. We've known him for years; it's not going to be some otherworldly thing."

"That boy is enamoured by you, Maddie." Now it was Rosaline's turn to roll her eyes. "If you think you're not gonna get spoiled tonight, you have another thing coming."

"Oh, God," Madeline huffed, squirming away. "I am not having this conversation. I can't. Like, I physically can't."

"Okay, okay," she conceded. "You're feeling embarrassed, it's all right. But I expect plenty of details tomorrow!"

"Yeah, alright," Madeline grumbled, but all in good nature. She accepted the light kiss her mother placed on her cheek, and waved her off as she slipped back out the door. Realizing she had plenty of time left until Max was to be expected, she moved to her bed and sat on the edge, careful to not wrinkle her dress or disturb her hair too much. She pulled open her drawer and grabbed the journal she had thrown in carelessly the other night, now hyper aware that whatever was inside was clearly of some value. The letters were dated to nearly twenty-five years ago, and the handwriting seemed so pristine and archaic it could have only been from the hand of some old-school noble.

' _Genevieve_ ,' the first letter she pulled out read, ' _Paris is dull without you_. Notre père _is growing sicker. He asks for you, but I'm unsure what to say. To lie, and portray you as living in Waverley amongst such Elite, or to tell the truth of your being the princess of a country he'd always despised?_ _It doesn't matter much what I'd say, though, as he never remembers the details in the morning. I'm waiting until the day I walk in his room and he asks me who I am. He asks for Mère enough as it is, and what am I to say? That she's been dead for a long twenty years? I'm not quite sure what I'm doing anymore, Gen._

 _I'm sure Richard has told you of the drama between Timothée and Graciela._ La Reine _had no choice but to send her away, and it is such a shame_ — _she was the best diplomat we had. Alas, expect her to be arriving to your_ _Illéa_ _soon, where I'm certain her talents will be wasted. Of course Tim had to be a fool and fall—_ '

A knock sounded at her door, and Madeline gasped sharply, caught by complete surprise. She quickly shoved the letter back into the journal and placed it deep within her bedside drawer, making a mental note to read further into it. The names seemed familiar—the author of the letter must have been referring to the Graciela she had grown up with, and she assumed the Genevieve the letters were addressed to were in reference of the late mother of Christine—but the rest of those named were unknown to her. She forced herself to not think on it further, instead focusing to the task at hand: opening the door without tripping on her feet.

She managed to do it quite gracefully, but was almost knocked over upon opening the door to reveal Max standing outside, looking like he had his own group of butterflies inside of him.

 _God, he's so pretty,_ she thought to herself as she smiled at him widely.

"Hey," she said instead, careful to not bump into anything as she slipped out the door and closed it behind her.

"You're stunning," he breathed out, looking slightly dazed as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her hand. In response, she beamed and bounced up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"I'm ready for dinner." She smiled, feeling all the butterflies in her stomach rapidly race around. Madeline was almost certain they would send her soaring.

* * *

Though the restaurant had a strict no pictures and filming policy, upper class girls used to getting what they wanted always found a way to be sneaky.

"Order me a shot the next time you see that girl's flash go off or so help me God—" Madeline muttered through a fake smile, stabbing her food with just a touch too much force. Max threw his head back and laughed, placing his hand on top of her free one.

"I'm not gonna lie, this is kind of hilarious. How much do you bet we'll be main focus of some trashy online article by tomorrow morning?" He took a sip of his wine.

Madeline grinned. "Tomorrow morning? Oh, babe, you severely underestimate the power of a teenage girl and her phone—try the next ten minutes."

Max opened his mouth to respond, but his phone went off. He frowned at the screen and declined the call, instead focusing back on her. "Just some junior assistant," he explained upon her questioning gaze. "If it's really important they'll call back."

His phone went off again.

"It's okay," Madeline reassured. "The council can't take a hint half the time. Go sound off on them if you have to."

Max smiled again, his entire face going soft. He carefully got up from his chair and pressed a kiss to her cheek as he stepped away. "I'll tell them off in less than a minute," he promised.

Madeline couldn't help how absolutely giddy she felt. She genuinely had never felt as light as she did in that moment in some expensive restaurant on the other side of the city, feeling millions of miles away from the responsibility of being a princess, or on the council, even. She was simply a girl on a date that was going really, really well with a boy that she really, really, liked.

Like, a lot.

Before she could dwell further on exactly what all _that_ meant, Max hurried back to his seat, a little flushed and breathless.

"Everything good?" she asked.

"They won't be bothering us for the rest of the night," he assured.

"Rest of the night?" she questioned with a raised eyebrow and starts of a smile. "Does that mean you got something else planned?"

Max grinned. "There's a place I know of that I think you'd enjoy."

Madeline immediately threw her hand up, waving down a waiter for the cheque. "Then let's go."

* * *

The place Max knew of, as it turned out, was the Angeles planetarium, sitting atop of a hill that overlooked the city. When they stepped inside, Madeline's curiosity peaked to a tenfold—she had visited a few times as a kid, and space and astronomy always had had a special part of her heart, but it had been so long that the constellations and holograms across the ceiling had her pausing in her step.

"It's beautiful," she said softly, spinning around with her face up, watching as the stars danced across the room.

"It's even better in person," Max said. He extended his hand towards her in invitation. She quickly accepted it, and he guided her up some winding stairs, through a door she hadn't seen when they entered. She laughed like a child the whole way up, not sure if she was breathless from running up a solid three flights of stairs, or from the pure ecstasy she felt beating through her heart, and flowing through her veins. He looked back at her with a grin as he pushed open a door, revealing their final destination.

The breath was knocked out of her.

As it turned out, every film that ever required the downtown Angeles skyline filmed from the roof of the planetarium, because the view in front of her was as picturesque as anything she could have imagined. The lights of the city appeared as little dots from where she stood, but she could still feel the pure energy and buzz of excitement that was always present. It was the feelings of millions of dreamers and believers of love and new beginnings and all the hope in the world.

"It's... gorgeous." She sighed contently.

"It truly is," Max agreed. (She was too busy staring out at the view in front of her that she didn't realize he was looking at her with pure adoration when he said it.)

She turned around and looked behind them, something catching in her breath when she saw the palace some distance away. Her home looked… aglow with something. It was almost ethereal.

"Look up," Max whispered. "You'll see all the stars."

Sure enough, the constellations she saw in the sky weren't give their due justice by what she saw inside the building. She almost fell over, straining her head so far back in order to catch every little detail. Max laughed as he caught her, spinning her upright.

"If you lie down, you'll be able to see it better," he said, guiding her to the centre of the roof. He produced a blanket, stashed in the corner of the roof, and spread it on the ground. At her surprised look, he only shrugged. "I bring Faye up here a lot—it helps when she's really missing Mom. She thought the roof could be too dirty or cold so," he smiled and shrugged again, in a ' _what else would I have done'_ way.

Yeah, so she really, really liked him. The butterflies inside her stomach agreed.

They laid down on the blanket, and Madeline immediately grabbed his hand. She subconsciously leaned close into him when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, their joint hands resting on his chest. She watched as the stars seemed to flicker in the sky, some large and some small. She tried to make out the few constellations she knew, but was content with just looking, and not thinking at all.

"They're as bright as your eyes," she said. She craned her neck to look up at him, pleasantly surprised to find him already looking at her with a soft smile.

"There's nothing in the world that compares to your eyes, or smile, or anything, Madeline. You're brighter than everything."

She beamed, the butterflies racing around again. "You're amazing."

"You're spectacular," he responded softly.

She inched up, so their faces were on the same level. "If I asked you to kiss me, would you now?"

"Do you want me to?" he asked, his blue, blue eyes full of so many different emotions Madeline wasn't sure what to look for.

"Yes," she breathed. "I do. I really, really do."

He moved forward, and she met him halfway, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. He moved one hand to the back of her neck, and the other stayed holding hers. When he finally pressed his lips to hers, it felt greater than any New Year's fireworks, or cozier than any stolen moment in a storage closet. She kissed him back, everything she had been waiting for since they had first met some years ago bubbling to the surface. He rolled onto his back and Madeline was happy to practically lie on top of him, trading kisses under the thousands of stars and well into the night.

At some point, the butterflies all flew away, and all that was left was pure warmth.

* * *

She got home closer to 2am than she would admit. Max walked her up to the back entrance, by the kitchens. They shared a final kiss there, and Madeline couldn't believe how right it felt to be so close to him, unashamedly wrapped in his arms.

"Budget meeting tomorrow," she reminded between kisses, and he looked equally parts annoyed and pleased.

"It'll be drag—" he kissed the corner of her mouth "—but at least you'll be there." He kissed her forehead. "Then I guess I better get going."

"Okay," she said, though she took no physical action of removing herself from his embrace. Finally, they both conceded it was time to part ways, and under a promise to meet in the morning, Madeline finally slipped through the door. She was careful to keep quiet, lest she wake someone up. She found none other than her brother sitting at the large counter in the middle of the kitchen, a spoon in one hand and half a cake in front of him.

She grabbed a fork and sat next to him.

"How'd your date go?" she questioned, taking a large bite of the vanilla dough.

"Amazing. Brilliant. Outstanding," he listed, his thoughts somewhere else.

"You sure you're not just thinking of the show's review?" she teased.

He looked over to her, a goofy smile on his face. "Definitely the date. She's great, Mads." He took a bite. "And how did yours go?"

Then it was Madeline's turn to sigh contently. "Everything you said and more. Max is just… _amazing._ He's so sweet, and considered, and funny, and he, like, gets me." She took her bite. "I really like him, Will. Like, a lot."

Her brother raised an eyebrow. "How much is 'a lot.'"

She avoided his gaze, but still spoke clearly. "I'd revoke my claim to the crown, if the council demanded it. I wouldn't mind not being a princess if I had him."

Will whistles low, setting down his utensil and looking his sister dead on. "So you're serious about him?"

"Yeah, I think it's pretty serious."

Her older brother smiled, pushing the rest of the cake towards her. "You know what? After my date, I think I feel the same."


End file.
